Sweetbriar
by nise7465
Summary: His life destroyed in an act of revenge, present day Detective Masen finds himself on forced leave and at his family's historic bed and breakfast. Can the discovery of antebellum Isabella Newton's old letters and journals be his path to healing? : HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All Twilight characters belong to Stephenie Meyer. All plot and original characters are copyright to me.

A/N: Many thanks to Bronze for pre-reading. A huge thanks to hyacinthgirl18 and Aleisha at PTB for betaing this chapter.

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Sweetbriar

Chapter One

"Isabella! _RUN_!" These were the words that left me as I awoke with a jolt. My last vision  
was of the beautiful brunette running towards a Native American man who was lying in a lifeless heap on the ground; blood soaked the back of his grungy shirt. Before she reached him, a second shot rang out. She collapsed on the ground beside him. Maniacal laughter rang out somewhere in the distance, as a male voice growled, "If I can't have you, baby, no one else will."

I jerked to a sitting position on the floor, clutching my chest. Loud screams filled the bedroom. I was shocked and embarrassed when I realized they were coming from me.

Guilt crushed me as I realized it was another woman who occupied my dreams tonight. I almost felt like I had been… unfaithful.

The murders happened months ago, but I still couldn't erase them from my mind. The all- consuming feelings of devastation, loss, and guilt ripped me apart. I felt the guilt because I wasn't there when it happened. The guilt haunted me because, sometimes even though I knew it was unlikely, I still wondered if I could have prevented it.

Not once since the afternoon my life was destroyed had the nightmare changed. Not until tonight.

Night after night, restless tossing and turning led to fitful sleep; until I was tortured awake by the bloodcurdling screams and the gunshots; followed by the broken sobs. I'd awoken with a jolt; cold sweat covering my body. It always came as a shock to realize the sobs were coming from me.

By day, I was haunted by the images that flashed through my mind. Yellow tape identified the home we had shared as the crime scene it had become. Sometimes there were subtle differences, but the images flashed through my mind like some sick rerun on TV.

As if I were having an out-of-body experience, I would watch myself walk through the crime scene, careful not to disturb anything that might lead them to the perpetrator.

When in reality, I had rushed in, attempting to save those I knew in my heart were already gone. I was oblivious to the crime scene grid I should have been preserving.

The smell of gun powder and sulphur hung heavy in the air, and the acidic scent of blood made my stomach recoil as bile filled my throat. Our home looked like the scene of a bloody massacre.

Every one of my senses was on alert. Scenes like this had unfolded time and again through the lifetime of my career, yet never in my life had I imagined I'd encounter this in my own home.

The scene was so vivid. I felt the crunch of broken glass under my shoes as I crossed the garage floor and entered the foyer. I passed the broken window in the kitchen door. I saw the wet and bloody hand print on the wall in the foyer. Running, my feet went out from under me and I felt the vertigo of my downward spiral as I lost my balance while tripping over a large lump of something… _someone_… lying face down on the floor.

In my mind, I grabbed the body of the large black man, rolling him onto his back, knowing- as I had every night since the murders- that I would be staring into the lifeless face of my closest friend. _Laurent._

I choked on sobs, as I remembered looking down at the blood and vomit that marred the formerly pristine linoleum of our kitchen floor. I followed the streaks of blood that trailed behind the body of my partner Laurent Jackson. A single shot to the chest took his life, but Laurent was too stubborn to die before he did his duty. There was never any doubt… Laurent's final act as a Chicago police detective was a futile attempt to protect my wife, Tanya, and our little Lily.

Slipping in my own vomit, I crawled across the floor to Tanya where she lay in a growing red puddle. Next to her lay the upturned chair she'd been sitting in when the bullet entered her chest. Her beautiful brown eyes were wide open, but they no longer held any life. Her lovely heart shaped face was splattered with her own blood. And her hands…her hands encircled the life she carried in a failed attempt to protect our unborn child.

Just days before the shooting, as we sat in Carlisle's office, we watched the ultrasound of our tiny daughter. It seemed, that day, all of our dreams had come true. Who knew our perfect life would come to a screeching halt so tragically?

Most nights, I awoke lying on the bedroom floor clutching my blankets under me as they muffled my sobs. In my mind I had a death grip on Tanya, trying to shake her awake and out of this never ending nightmare. Other mornings when I awoke, I found myself in the bathroom frantically trying to scrub away the sticky blood that I could still see and feel covering my hands and soaking my clothing.

Fully awake, I would fall to the floor, lying prostrate, screaming the name of the woman I loved.

This morning, I was no longer alone. Frantic footsteps on the hardwood floor and hushed whispers turned into pounding and a familiar voice yelling my name. Before I could reply, warm arms wrapped around me and hushed reassurances begged me to wake up.

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Thanks for reading. Please let me know what you think. I'd love to hear your thoughts on Sweetbriar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters. Those belong to Stephenie Meyer. The story Sweetbriar, as well as any original plots or characterizations are copyright to me.**

**Many thanks to Hyacinthgirl18 and Aleisha from Project Team Beta for betaing, and to Bronze as well, for pre-reading. You girls rock!**

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_Sweetbriar_

_Chapter Two_

After the murders, Carlisle had rushed to my side almost immediately, acting as the father I so desperately needed. My first recollection after I woke up in the hospital was finding my mother and aunt Esme by my side. From time to time, Carlisle would stop by and attempt to talk with me, his words a garbled senseless mess . Thankfully, he injected something into my IV allowing me to slip back into the oblivion I craved. It was the only place I could get away from the horror that my life had become.

The events of the days following the murders continued to play through my mind in no particular order. I'd endured the nightmares for so long; I found it difficult to remember a time when they hadn't been my constant companions. Day or night; it didn't matter-they took up permanent residence in the back of my mind.

The day after my release from the hospital, Carlisle took me to The Clothier to be fitted for a suit to wear to the funerals. Our home was a sealed crime scene; I couldn't have entered it, even if I had wanted to. I _didn't_ want or need to. If I closed my eyes, I could see it in vivid detail. The only difference now would be the absence of the bodies belonging to the people I cared most about in the world. There was no reason for me to return, ever again.

Five days after the 'incident,' as everyone was calling it, Carlisle had convinced me to attend the funerals.

Just a week after the murders happened, the people I'd been closest to were laid to rest.

Laurent's funeral had been held first. A public viewing was held at 10am, followed by a graveside funeral. Like most of the other graveside services I'd attended for former law enforcement officers, the day was overcast and glum. A slow, steady drizzle chilled the May air as my mother and I stood off in the background attempting to blend in.

As the group broke up to leave, fellow officers clapped me on the shoulder, offering condolences and well wishes. I knew what I'd have been thinking if I were in their shoes…

_Poor fucker. _

_Think he'll ever work again?_

_I wonder if he _did_ it? _

Others snubbed me in disgust; as a detective, I'd seen that kind of look before- the hesitant glances, officers wondering if the likely suspect committed the crimes, most of them condemning me immediately.

For days, Carlisle had kept me sedated. The day of the funerals, I was on some cocktail of antidepressants that kept the uncontrollable emotions at bay. I was merely going through the motions. Emotionally, I was numb.

That evening a funeral mass was held for Tanya. I remained ostracized in a corner with my mother, Carlisle, and Esme. Tanya's parents refused to acknowledge us as family, and instead glared at me from time to time, distaste clearly written on their faces. They'd never forgiven me for crushing their hopes of a nice Catholic son-in-law and a passel of grandchildren. They'd learned tonight before the funeral that they'd lost their unborn granddaughter as well.

Complications during Tanya's birth left Mrs. Denali barren. Tanya was an only child. She was raised in a strict Catholic home. We were friends as teenagers, having lived in the same neighborhood, but she attended a private Catholic school, while I received a public education.

Like all good Catholic girls, Tanya took an active part in mass and community life, fasted on Fridays during Lent, went to confession, received the Eucharist, and respected the Bible. Her parents forbade her to interact with boys. Before she started college, we began dating. Her parents were horrified.

Even before I proposed to Tanya, it had been made clear by Mr. & Mrs. Denali that I was expected to convert to Catholicism. Instead, I convinced her that we could have a happy life even if I didn't convert. I wasn't an atheist, for heaven's sake. I attended a Baptist church with my mother every Sunday, yet they treated me like a pagan. When the priest at St. Michaels refused to marry us in the Catholic Church, we had a civil ceremony in Lincoln Park and spent our afternoon walking hand in hand through the zoo. Carlisle gave the bride away, my mother and Esme our only other guests. Tanya's parents refused to attend- Tanya's refusal to choose her faith over her boyfriend drove a wedge between them.

Thinking they'd have any sort of sympathy for my loss was laughable. My mother had tried to comfort Mrs. Denali when they arrived at the church. Mrs. Denali snubbed Mom, passing her by as she made her way over to let me know exactly what she thought of me. Words weren't necessary; her hand making contact with my cheek spoke louder than any words ever could. The resounding slap delivered to my face by my mother-in-law made it perfectly clear… they blamed me for everything. I was so numb I barely felt it.

The day after the funerals, I was taken into custody by Internal Affairs for questioning. We all expected it; we just didn't know when it would happen. I remember that morning like it was yesterday, as I was forced to recall the events that destroyed my life. Dragged out of my bed, and thrown into the back of an unmarked cruiser like a common criminal, I endured the twenty four hours I was in custody without the numbness of Carlisle's medication. I had remained wrapped in the sanctuary the meds provided since I'd awoken in the hospital days before. Existing without it was hell.

Agent Bunce was in my face, screaming questions in rapid fire succession in an attempt to get me to confess my guilt. Agent Mallory was using the compassionate approach, telling me it was okay to admit that I had snapped; everyone on the force knew Laurent and I were under incredible strain trying to close the Volturi murder case. They kept saying they were my friends, and everyone on the force understood the pressure we were under from the district attorney's office to collar someone in order to get the media's attention directed elsewhere. Both agents were determined to get me to snap.

Their disadvantage was the fact that I had been in their shoes many times over the years. I had known what cards they would pull, what tricks and tactics they'd use to make me cave.

_No, __I don't need a drink. _

_I don't smoke, thank you._

_No, I don't need the restroom. _

_Yes, your pizza smells delicious- deep dish Chicago pizza- I couldn't eat if my life depended on it_.

I refused to give in.

After sitting stoically for hours, I was pushed into a cell in solitary confinement as a 'safety precaution.' At some point later, Agent Mallory entered my cell and explained that when the detectives entered our home I had been found covered in blood and vomit, the handgun used in the murders clutched in my hand. My bloody handprints were found on the floor, the wall, the bodies. Did I kill my wife and partner, she wanted to know? No, I was certain I hadn't killed them… _I didn't, did I_?

I thought back to that day. Laurent had called and told me he had a gut feeling something was wrong at my house. Tanya was in danger. He was close to the house, he said. I should meet him there. Something was off.

:-:

My partner had this uncanny knack of predicting the future. Laurent came from the bayous of Louisiana. His mother was some Creole fortune teller or some freaky mumbo jumbo like that. They all made fun of him, but everyone at the department learned, in time, to take my partner seriously when he said he had a 'feeling' about something. When I first met him as a kid visiting my dad at work, I could barely understand him; but after working together on a daily basis, his odd dialect had an almost calming effect on me.

When I was a kid, Laurent had been the officer who stood on our doorstep one morning as dawn broke over the Chicago skyline. It seemed like it took him a long time to conjure up the words that turned me into 'the man of the house.' That's what he had called me that morning. Ironically, I had never felt more like a lost little boy than I did that day.

Dad had been working an undercover assignment for a few weeks. He'd sneak in every few days to grab a quick meal or a few minutes with my mother and me. Each time he'd head for the back door, the promise would be the same. "As soon as we have a break in the case, Liz, I'll be home. I love you." He'd come over and ruffle my hair. "Edward look after your mother, it'll just be a little while longer…" Those were the words he uttered as he crept out the door that last night, breaking the promise for the final time.

Standing next to my mother as she clutched his service flag to her chest, I watched them lower his casket into the open grave. I was just shy of my fifteenth birthday when I decided to follow in my father's footsteps.

Seven years later, I found myself entering the same precinct my dad had called home, for my first day on the force.

After losing my dad, I became obsessed with planning my future career. I graduated high school at the top of my class. Two weeks after graduation, I found myself heading to Fort Leonard Wood for US Army boot camp. I spent a total of twenty weeks there, training to be an army Military Police Officer. The next four years of my military career were spent as an MP on a base in Korea.

Becoming an officer of the Chicago Police Department was a small hurdle. My first day on the job, I was partnered with Laurent. I hadn't seen him in years. I knew, according to my mother, that the two of them had remained in contact; he and some of the other officers from dad's precinct continued to check on mom in my absence, even after she moved to Albany.

A seasoned officer, Laurent immediately took me under his wing. He was one of the few that still existed on the Chicago police force who had worked with my father. Any time I had a problem, he was there, filling my dad's shoes.

Not long after I was hired, Laurent took a transfer to homicide. After my probationary period as an entry-level Police Officer with the City of Chicago ended, he convinced me to follow in his footsteps. I applied to this specialized unit when the opportunity arose. A fellow officer was the victim of a traffic fatality and a position became available. Because I had no seniority, I had to take an exam to be selected for the promotion. Before long, Laurent and I were partners again.

It took less than ten years as a homicide detective, for _my_ family to become a casualty of my career.

:-:

As I was exiting my car that afternoon, I'd heard Tanya's bone chilling screams, followed by gunshots. To this day, I've no idea how many there were. I threw open the car door, stumbling as I fell out onto the pavement. I remember thinking it was odd that the garage door was wide open. Tanya constantly chided me for leaving it open; she would have closed it if she had gone out.

Crouching and running from the curb, the detective in me told me to move with stealth, while the husband in me screamed for me to hurry and get inside to my wife. Entering through the opened garage, I found the door to the foyer hanging open, its window broken. Drops of blood littered the floor and were smeared over the broken glass that still hung in its frame.

Quietly, I pushed through the opening. The crunching glass underfoot alerted _someone_ to my presence. I heard the staccato of hurried footsteps through the kitchen, followed by the slamming of the patio screen door.

Rushing to the kitchen I was filled with dread. I saw Tanya first, my love. My life. She was lying in a quickly growing pool of her own blood. Her eyes were open gasping and gurgling sounds came from her mouth.

It felt like my world was moving in slow motion. Reason told me it had only been seconds, but at the time it seemed like forever.

I ran towards Tanya, not looking down as I tripped over something that should not have been there. As I spiraled towards the floor, I realized the obstacle was Laurent.

My partner was face down, the back of his shirt drenched with blood. Practically lying on top of him, I checked him first. I prayed that I'd find some sign of life. It took all my strength to roll him onto his back. I knew Laurent was a huge man, but I never realized the extent of his bulk until I attempted to move his dead weight. When I rolled him over, I knew he was gone- a huge hole now existed where his heart used to be. This man wasn't just my partner; he become a father figure to me. I'd trusted him with my life for nearly ten years. Even though I knew he was gone, I reached for the pulse I knew no longer existed.

Without warning, my lunch came up, causing me to retch over and over. Gasping, I tried to catch my breath, but it felt like I was trying to suck a grape through a straw.

I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees. The smell of blood and gun powder hung in the air. I swallowed, futilely willing the vomit back down. When I tried to stand, I slipped and lost my footing in the vomit, or blood. It seemed like it was everywhere.

On my hands and knees, I made my way to Tanya. She was slumped against the wall. A wide swath of blood, still fresh and wet, followed her down the wall to her seat on the floor. Her hands clutched her stomach, as if she had attempted to protect the baby. Her eyes were wide open, unseeing. They told me what I had already known in my heart.

Like Laurent, she'd been shot at point blank range in the chest. She hadn't made a sound for… what was it… seconds? Minutes? I had no idea. It seemed like time had stopped. In the background I heard the faint wail of sirens. Pulling her into my lap, I clutched Tanya to my chest. Sobbing and rocking her, I begged her. _Wake up, baby. Open your eyes. Hold on, for God's sake, hold on. They're coming, stay with me, baby. _There was just… so… much… blood. My hands were covered, my shirt soaked, from clutching her body to mine. My face was wet with tears and I registered someone in the room screaming. _Was it me?_

I heard footsteps in the garage.

I was shocked they had gotten to the house already.

I could have sworn the sirens were blocks away.

My head was spinning as I tried to comprehend what I had walked in on. The unmistakable crunch of broken glass pulled me out of my haze. As I turned to look, something hit the side of my head. I felt the blinding pain before everything went black and I hit the floor.

:-:

I awoke in the hospital; an armed guard stood just inside my door. Mom and Esme had been sitting next to my bed for God knows how long. I looked into their faces and I knew, I just _KNEW,_ this wasn't some sick dream. I couldn't stop myself from screaming.

I could vaguely register the sounds of Mom sobbing from the corner next to the head of my bed. Esme was screaming for help as I thrashed around, wanting to rip the IV from my hand as I fought to get out of the hospital bed. My wrists and ankles had restraints on them. A cloth chest restraint dug into my torso as I struggled to get myself loose from my trappings.

An orderly and two nurses ran into my room. The older nurse kept yelling my name. "Mr. Masen. Mr. Masen! ! _Please_ calm down!" She had a hand on my chest in what appeared to be an attempt to keep me in bed, even though I couldn't have gone anywhere. Her yelling grew continually louder.

She turned to the orderly who stood next to the door. He looked like he wanted to make a run for it. "Sam, come here. Hold him before he hurts himself!" The orderly was huge. He was a Native American man, with black hair hanging in a long braid down his back. "Sam" grabbed my biceps and pushed me back to the bed. Nurse number two rushed over with a syringe and, in a matter of seconds, I was plunged back into the abyss.

When I awoke again, I laid quietly, listening to what was being said around me. I remember hearing the hushed tones of Carlisle and Esme's voices as they tried to console my mother. "What's going to happen to him, Carlisle? They certainly don't think he did this?"

"There will be an investigation. Of course, they have to consider him a suspect. It's standard protocol. This isn't personal. Everyone loves Edward, Liz. The same way they all loved Ed. It's a brotherhood. Trust me, they'll all have his back. They'll find out who did this."

:-:

The morning after I was dragged to the precinct for questioning, I awoke to someone clearing their throat. It was Officer Mallory. She looked as tired as I felt. Some of the things she had said during my questioning were unforgivable. Had she treated me with some modicum of respect, I might have almost felt sorry for her. _Almost_.

I stared at the floor while she spoke. I had no respect for her. "Your uncle and his lawyer are waiting in the corridor. For the record, the medical examiner confirmed that the blood from your garage door belonged to an individual other than yourself or either of the victims. You are free to go."

I stood as the cell opened. "Ed, don't go far. We're not done with the investigation and you're the only remaining witness."

"I already told you I didn't see anyone."

"Many times after a traumatic event like this, little things come to mind later. Strange noises you may have heard, something out of place…"

I suppressed the urge to scream at her. "Lauren! Please, give me a little credit. I've worked homicide for almost ten years."

"Don't return to the house until we give you the all clear. It's a crime scene. You already contaminated it when you rushed in the day of the murders."

I couldn't believe she had the audacity to belittle me in this way. "I'm never going back inside that house. Do whatever you want with it."

I ignored her as she muttered something else; I walked down to the watch commander's window to collect my watch and wallet. Carlisle and Marcus walked over to greet me. Carlisle wrapped me in a bear hug, asking me quietly if I was alright. I nodded my head, trying to be convincing. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.

When we got to my Volvo, Marcus put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Edward, if you need anything, call me. Carlisle knows, anytime — day or night. I don't think they'll bother you anymore. They've established you're not likely their suspect. But I still don't want you to answer any more questions without me present."

I nodded my head. "Uh, thanks, Marcus."

He frowned. "I'm so sorry for your loss, son."

Carlisle opened my door and motioned for me to get in. I was barely going through the motions. "You're mother is worried about you. Let's get some breakfast before we go home. She'll hover less if she knows you've had a good meal," he added with a sad smile.

I stared at the floor as Carlisle drove; and we rode across town in silence. I looked up as we passed Lincoln Park. Memories flooded my head. Tanya and I had spent so much time at the park over the years. The images bombarded my mind relentlessly. The day of our wedding… picnics in the springtime... burying her in the autumn leaves as she laughed… making angels in the snow... a walk through the park just weeks ago when she told me our family was growing...

Heartbroken, I clutched my head as I started to gasp for air. I realized I was in a full fledged panic attack. Carlisle pulled the car over as I hyperventilated. He ran around the car. I vaguely remember him ripping my door open and grabbing my shoulders as black spots formed before my eyes and I felt like I was slipping away. He tried to hold my attention as he continued to talk to me. "Come on, son, focus, big deep breaths. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. _Edward_. Look at me." He kept chanting his words of encouragement as he talked me down off my ledge.

It seemed like forever until my breathing got under control. Carlisle held out two little pills. "Here, Edward, take these, they'll help you calm down." I didn't ask what they were as I downed the half empty bottle of water that remained in the cup holder from the night of the funeral. As long as I remained in a state of oblivion for the morning, I didn't much care. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes for the short ride.

"Can you eat something?" I turned to find Carlisle looking at me earnestly. I knew he was trying to take care of me. But I had no interest. I just wanted to crawl back into the cocoon provided me by the medication and sleep. Forever. "Edward, please?"

I groaned. "I might be able to get some coffee down. Something hot might be nice."

Carlisle pulled into a diner. There was a newsstand next door. "I'll be right there, Carlisle. I just want to grab something quick." Carlisle looked like he wanted to say something, but just shook his head. His phone rang, giving me the opportunity I needed to get away for a minute.

Ever since Bunce and Mallory were questioning me the day before, all I could think about was that cigarette they'd tried to bribe me with. I hadn't smoked in years. The last time I had a cigarette in my mouth, Dad had pulled up in front of our brownstone unexpectedly. Neither Eric Yorkie nor I had a ghost of a chance to ditch the evidence. After my dad tanned my hide, he made me pick up every cigarette butt in the neighborhood.

A bell tinkled as I entered the mom and pop store. The smell of fresh newsprint hung in the air. An old lady smiled as I walked up to the counter. "How can I help you?"

I felt the corners of my mouth pull up into an almost smile. She looked like everyone's grandmother. I bet she smelled like sugar cookies. "Newport Kings in a box, please."

She handed them to me, but didn't ring them up. I pulled my wallet out and she put her hand out to push the money away. "No charge, Detective Masen. Please, take them, with my compliments." With a frown, she looked over at the wall of Tribunes. My face was on the front page of every paper on the wall. "I'm so sorry for your loss," she muttered softly.

I couldn't get the words out to thank her. I just nodded as I left. That familiar feeling of nausea was overwhelming. I ran between the buildings to heave, but all that was in my stomach was the bottle of water. It came up, soaking my shirt. I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, not caring about my appearance.

I fumbled to open the smokes, dropping one on the ground in my haste to get it out of the pack. The second one made it to my mouth, but my hands were shaking so badly I couldn't light the match. Out of the corner of my eye I registered someone reaching towards the cigarette with a flame. I inhaled deeply. The smoke burned my throat and my lungs as I pulled it in. I held myself up with the brick wall as my body was wracked with a fit of coughing. The second drag was smoother. Pacing myself, I could feel my body calming down.

I looked over towards my salvation. Carlisle stood next to me, clicking the top of a well worn Zippo lighter open and closed. "I didn't know you smoked, old man."

"I don't, Edward. It's a nasty habit that will send you to an early grave." Carlisle smirked.

I wondered why he even carried it, if he didn't smoke. "What's with the lighter, then?"

"Your Aunt Esme gave it to me our first Christmas. We were dirt poor. I was in medical school. She was waiting tables to feed us and keep a roof over our heads. Someone forgot it in the diner the night before Christmas. It was brand new. The girls she worked with convinced her it was fate. We had already agreed we wouldn't exchange gifts."

"Didn't you feel bad that you didn't get her anything?"

"I _would have_ felt terrible, son. But I had already I bought her a handmade set of mittens, a scarf, and a hat from the mother of another med student. I wanted her to be warm when she walked to and from work. We had no car, you know."

I hadn't known that, but I wasn't surprised. I knew they struggled when they were young. Carlisle's parents refused to help them financially because he didn't want to follow in his dad's footsteps and become a lawyer.

"Come on, Edward; let's get that cup of coffee. I've been gone a lone time. Your mother was pacing the floor when I left. She asked me to take you to breakfast, but I don't want them to worry. I imagine she won't be content until she sees you with her own eyes."

I nodded my head and followed him. As I got to the door, I looked at my reflection in the window. I tried to make some sense of my hair as I ran my fingers through it. I zipped my jacket all the way up to cover my wet shirt. It was getting warm outside, but my attire was embarrassing.

Carlisle tried to make small talk, but the meds he had given me were beginning to make me really groggy. I tried to drink the coffee, but I was just too tired to bother. I was holding my head up by a fistful of hair. I kept drifting off and jerking awake as my elbow would slip off the edge of the table. Carlisle chuckled as he put a wad of bills on the table.

"Alright, Edward, let's get you home."

I don't remember the ride, or how I made it to my room. When I woke up, it was dark. I fumbled for the light switch as I felt around for my jeans. When I found them crumpled at the end of the bed and smelling of vomit, I realized it might benefit us all if I took a little pride in my personal hygiene.

I showered and shaved, pulling on a set of blue Chicago PD sweats from the duffle bag I always kept in my car. Not knowing if or when I was going to return to work, I decided I didn't really care if it was an inappropriate use of city issued clothing.

I heard voices as I made my way to Esme's kitchen. My mother was engaged in conversation with my aunt and uncle. Someone else was talking— I recognized the male voice, but I couldn't put my finger on where I knew it from. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee hung in the air. My mouth watered, remembering the discarded cup from earlier in the day.

My family sat at the table with Marcus. Looking around I noticed how bare the kitchen appeared. I forgot they had taken a truck load of stuff to the new place they had bought. It seemed like a millennia ago when we last discussed their move.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and took the only empty chair, next to my uncle. Gripping the cup with both hands I inhaled deeply and sighed. Ahh…ambrosia. The taste was as intoxicating as the aroma. Aside from the bottle of water I couldn't keep down, this was the first thing I'd consumed since I'd been picked up the day before. Before the cup was empty, my mother had refilled it. I gave her a questioning look, one eyebrow raised. She just shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry, force of habit. I can't stand to see a customer with an empty cup. If you don't want it, dump it."

I reached out and took her hand. "No, it's fine, Mom. Thank you." I knew running the Inn was her dream, but it rankled to think of her waiting tables. My mother was _nobody's _waitress!

Carlisle cleared his throat, pulling my attention away from my mother. "I think it would do us all some good to get out of Chicago."

"You know I can't leave, Carlisle. You heard what Mallory said." In just twenty four hours time, I had come to feel like an outsider. The precinct had always felt like a second home to me. After spending most of a day in a holding cell or interrogation room, I began to question everything I thought I knew to be true. "I don't want to piss anyone off. You know they are going to question me again as a witness. This isn't going to be over anytime soon."

Marcus coughed quietly. It sounded suspiciously like he was trying to cover a laugh. "They had nothing to hold you on. They told you you're no longer a suspect. You realize yesterday was an IAB inquiry anyway, right? Internal Affairs had nothing to justify holding you so long."

"I just don't need any more crap from anyone. I've got enough to deal with." I jerked to my feet, nearly toppling my chair over in my haste. Suddenly the exhaustion I felt was overwhelming. I just wanted to get away from the world. I righted the chair as it began to tip backwards.

Marcus apparently had more on his mind.

"I'm going to visit District Attorney Swan at his office tomorrow. Carlisle has provided an affidavit stating that remaining here could be detrimental to your mental health. You're not a suspect; I don't like you being forced to stay here against your will. You don't have anything to worry about. I don't think they can keep you from leaving, but I want to nip this in the bud now." Marcus looked smug.

"I won't hold my breath. There are officers at my own precinct that think I'm guilty. You weren't at the funerals."

"Son, the truth always comes out." Then he chuckled as he said, "Don't worry about Swan. Let's just say I caught him in a compromising position with Judge Cope."

My family sat around the small table, all eyes on me. "So, where are we going? I do have quite a bit of money saved." Suddenly, a road trip sounded like a welcome distraction.

They all answered at the same time. "Sweetbriar."

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Thanks for reading. Please leave me some sort of feedback. I'd love to know what you think. There's been a lot of traffic for Sweetbriar, but no one has commented. Is anyone out there?


	3. Chapter 3

**_Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended. Sweetbriar, and any original plots or characters belong to me._**

**Many thanks to my betas, Hyacinthgirl18 and Aleisha. You girls rock!**

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**_~Sweetbriar ~_**

**_Chapter 3_**

The morning after the decision was made, a moving company was contracted to pack up what furnishings were left in Esme and Carlisle's home. Just a few days later, their belongings were stowed safely inside a huge moving truck and a realtor sign graced their well groomed front lawn. I knew they had made the decision for a number of reasons, yet I still felt guilty, aware that the greatest of those reasons were my mother and me.

My mother made me ride in the old, beat up Volvo 240 wagon she had been driving when we lived in Chicago. It looked like it had seen better days, but she swore it was the most dependable car she'd ever owned. I couldn't dispute her on that one. Mine was just a few years old and it had never left me sitting.

Carlisle drove my Volvo, while Esme took his Mercedes. I wanted to pull my weight and contribute to the driving as well, but Carlisle had laughed and made a comment about not letting me drive anywhere under the influence, I ended up navigating for my mother, instead. We spent several days making the trip, driving a few hours before stopping to take a break. We stayed in motels at night, always trying to find a room as far away from other people as possible. Carlisle always shared a room with me. I know he wanted to ensure that I was okay, but I suspected it had more to do with being able to keep me calm so I didn't make a disturbance that might cause the management to call the police. Blood curdling screams at two in the morning seemed to have that effect on people.

When we made it to their house in Albany on the evening of the third day, Carlisle had shown me to the room he and Esme had occupied on their first trip here. He explained that it was a guest room and would be mine for the length of my stay here, until something suitable could be worked out for us at the inn. I took advantage of the bathroom, relieving myself and washing up a little before I crawled into bed. I looked like hell. It's no wonder my mother constantly nagged me about my wellbeing. I hadn't shaved or showered since the funerals. I looked like grizzly Adams, and if I was being honest, I smelled like him too. I felt bad about Esme's nice bedding, but I just couldn't go through the motions tonight. If she wanted to burn it, I'd buy her more.

A week later, I was still wore the clothing I had left Chicago in. On one of the rare occasions where I chanced a look in the mirror, I discovered I was sporting a full beard and mustache now. I looked haggard. My hair was greasy; I had dark circles under my eyes. I crawled back into the rumpled bed and pulled the thin bedspread over me. I was beyond caring about my appearance. This room had become my prison, and I had become effective at keeping everyone out.

Well, almost everyone.

Finding sleep was nearly impossible, until Carlisle would come and insist I take another pill. I was terrified to take them. The day he realized I was hiding them in the nightstand, our routine changed. It included a quick inspection of my mouth, including under my tongue, to ensure that I had, in fact, swallowed it. He refused to leave the room until I drank the entire glass of water.

His alternative to taking medication: admitting me to the local hospital with a forty-eight hour psych hold, which would undoubtedly land me in some institution.

I took the pills.

They brought on an onslaught of images from my shattered life in blazing Technicolor, everything I had tried to keep at bay within the recesses of my mind when I was awake. When I was asleep, I was powerless to stop them from creeping out from their careful confines and haunting me.

The cycle continued over and over.

When I awoke screaming, in a heap on the floor, Carlisle would come in and guide me through some deep breathing routine or some shit in an attempt to calm me. He'd beg me each day to think about what this situation was doing to my mother and my aunt. He'd urge me to clean myself up out of respect for them. I guess seeing me this way had caused them to become depressed as well.

I could tell when I looked into my mother's haunted gaze that she feared she was losing me. I wasn't in a state where I could try to convince her otherwise. I was so deep in my own bottomless pit that I had no idea how to claw my way back out.

At some point, Esme declared my room in the carriage house ready for me to move into. I was content to remain in the pigsty I'd dug myself into, but I was unanimously outnumbered. I decided it would probably be in everyone's best interest if I cleaned myself up, so I showered and dressed in clean clothing for the occasion. While I was in the shower, a garbage bag had appeared. Inside of it were the sheets and bedspread from my bed and the pillow I had been sleeping on. I correctly assumed that the bag was awaiting my soiled and smelly clothing.

Showering had been a cathartic event. I felt stripped of so many things- not just body odor and grime, but I felt different somehow. Leaving the misty bathroom that smelled strongly of Irish Spring and Listerine, the stench of the bedroom hit me full force. Looking around, I was ashamed and embarrassed by what I had allowed myself to become. The room reeked of body odor and stale cigarette smoke. Empty cigarette packs and water bottles littered the floor. The room that I was sure had been beautiful when I'd arrived was disgusting. I'd never been so embarrassed by my actions.

The effort it took to clean up my mess was exhausting. However, out of respect for my family, I did what I could to tidy the room. I threw the trash that littered the room into the bag with my bedding and clothing. I opened the windows and sprayed room deodorizer I had found the bathroom sink into the air and on the mattress and carpet.

Looking around, I saw the state of disarray I had left the bathroom in, so I hung up my wet towels and cleaned the hair clippings that cluttered the vanity from trimming my beard. A quick swish around the bowl of the toilet with the brush and the bathroom was cleaned.

I carried my duffle bag to the entranceway and followed the sounds of my family conversing in the kitchen. We moved into the carriage house on my thirty-fourth birthday. June 20, 2009. I had seen the date on the calendar, this morning, but it meant nothing to me. A round chocolate cake sat on the breakfast bar under a glass dome. I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down between my mother and my aunt. Someone wished me a happy birthday. In my haste to get out the back door, I spilled my cup of coffee. Ignoring it and their cries, I ran out onto the porch.

I could barely catch my breath. It was so unfair! How could they even consider celebrating my birthday when _they knew_ Tanya would never have another one? And Lily, precious baby Lily, she never had the chance to take a solitary breath. No, there would be no celebration today. Celebrating my own birthday was a tradition that ended the day Tanya could have birthdays no more.

I sank onto the swing that hung from the massive porch. I shut my eyes and the memories of birthdays past haunted me. I jerked awake when Carlisle took my arm. "Come on, Edward, it's time to go home."

He walked me out to my Volvo and we drove the few miles to the Sweetbriar Inn. I was appalled when I saw the state that it was in. I barely recognized the place where I celebrated my honeymoon with my new bride. It had only been ten years, but time had been no friend to the inn.

Everyone was abuzz with excitement when we pulled up at the carriage house. My mother practically dragged me from the car and into the garage. I was shocked when I saw the transformation. The first floor hadn't been completed yet. The walls had been framed in with 2x4s, the electrical wiring and outlets had been installed. I could picture the rooms in my mind. Esme took my hand and walked me through, explaining what each room would be when it was complete.

The first floor would contain a huge living room, an eat-in kitchen, and a study. A half bath resided under the staircase. Because the building was originally a garage for the carriages and sleighs the family owned, it had been left unheated and uninsulated, all the bricks still exposed. Esme felt it gave the place a certain amount of charm, so she refused to cover them with plaster.

The second floor was a four room loft. Currently there were two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a sitting area with a makeshift kitchen. The kitchen contained a coffee machine, a dorm sized refrigerator, a microwave, and a card table with two chairs. Esme explained that we could use the appliances at the inn for cooking and storing food-this was merely a convenience until the place was completed.

It truly would be a wonderful home for me. I felt guilty because I couldn't make myself be excited. At that moment, all I could think about was how the bed in my room would feel under my exhausted body.

:-:

~July~

I'd been at Sweetbriar for weeks and nothing had gotten easier.

I had known I was torturing the people who cared about me, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Life as I'd known it was over. My days consisted of little more than giving in to my bodily functions. On the occasions when I would go through the motions of eating, whatever it was returned with little warning as my body purged itself. From time to time I'd relieve myself, but I had learned that the less I put into my body, the less there was to get rid of. Nearly shutting down my digestive system allowed me to lock myself into the tiny bedroom for hours at a time.

After a few weeks, my mother gave up on her failed attempts to make me eat, resigning herself to leaving a tray outside my door on a small table. Several times a day she would replace the untouched tray with a fresh one, lightly tapping on my door to alert me of its existence. Eventually, the trays stopped coming. At some point, she realized that if I were so hungry that I could no longer take it, I'd find something to eat.

As each day passed, it became infinitely more impossible to reign in the fragments of my shattered life. The solitude that came from hiding in the cocoon I'd constructed around myself was the only thing holding the shreds of my life together.

Interacting with those around me would have meant feeling, on some level. At this point, any emotion would have made me crumble. I chose, instead, to exist in the black hole my life had become.

Mom was cooking some sort of stew. I could smell her homemade biscuits baking in the oven. She was trying to make me crumble. I made my way to the kitchen. At some point in my oblivion, the first floor had been completed. How did I not realize that the makeshift kitchen was absent?

I wish she would understand. It wasn't that I was purposely avoiding food. I simply had no desire to eat. For her I would try, but I knew I'd be purging myself of anything I'd forced down my throat. I knew she'd take it personally.

My mom was an incredible cook.

When Dad died, I encouraged her to follow her dreams. She always wanted to run her own restaurant. She stumbled across the inn on some website that listed foreclosures. The owner had died and his kid was no businessman. The taxes fell delinquent and it went up for foreclosure. Carlisle accompanied her to New York. He took my mother to the courthouse and paid the taxes and filed some paperwork. Somehow they ended up with the property for next to nothing. The money from Dad's life insurance bought the Sweetbriar Inn. Carlisle, Esme and I packed up my childhood home and moved her to Albany, New York, right before I got into the academy.

When Mom acquired it, the property was in a sad state of affairs. There was enough money left for Mom to do the most pressing repairs and spruce the place up some. At the time, no one knew the inn generated barely enough income to cover the expenses. Over the years it continued to decay.

She had been running the main part of the inn by herself all these years, always wanting to do renovations, but money was scarce and good help expensive. She continued to only make the repairs that were necessary to keep operating. A few months ago, the state of New York forced her hand.

I'll never forget the teary phone call I received from my mother. She'd gone into Albany to buy supplies for the inn. After several hours of shopping she came home to find a big orange notice stapled to her front door.

_**CONDEMNED!**_

I made several phone calls to the Albany City Hall: Bureau of Codes. I tried to pull the "Detective Masen" card, but it didn't fly. Instead I had my ass reamed by a very abrupt codes enforcement officer. _Officer Hale_. She explained that there was a process. It must be followed. She said she'd be there "every step of the way" to _ensure_ we followed code.

The anonymous report of several suspected building code violations had led to the initial inspection.

An exterior inspection of the dilapidated porch, combined with chipped and curling paint on the wood clapboard siding and trim on the older portion of the building, along with a few other violations she noted, had been enough to justify Officer Hale's condemnation of the property.

The fact that my mother held a hotel occupancy permit issued by the state of New York sealed her fate. A state inspection not only upheld the first notice, but it also rendered the inn ineligible to retain the hotel occupancy permit. Sweetbriar was closed until the repairs could be made and the state conducted another inspection. _If_ the state was pleased with the outcome, they would consider re-instating the permit that would allow my mother to re-open for business.

The man I spoke to from the state of New York explained that Codes Officer Hale would be overseeing every step of the process. _Yes…she _had_ explained that little tidbit. _After the phone conversation I had with her, I felt sorry that my mother had to deal with someone who sounded so cold and impersonal. I was ashamed that I felt relieved that I didn't have to deal with this woman.

At the time, I had no idea that my life would soon be destroyed. I had no idea I would, in fact, be dealing with _Ms. Hale_ on a nearly day to day basis, nor did I realize that she would soon become the bane of my existence.

The condemnation of the inn set several other things in motion. Esme and Carlisle made the decision to move to Albany so they could be closer to Mom. At fifty-five, Carlisle had decided to take an early retirement at Chicago's Cook County Hospital. He was tired of working rotations in the Emergency Department. He and Esme found an old Victorian house five miles from Mom. Albany was going to be the home of his new private practice.

June 1 marked his twenty-fifth anniversary as a Physician at Cook County. Carlisle made the decision as soon as they found the new house that his anniversary would also be his final day of work in a facility.

They had begun moving small loads and spending weekends in Albany, shortly before I lost Tanya.

I wasn't surprised when Mom said it was a blessing in disguise that the inn was closed. Carlisle had called her a few hours after Tanya died. She drove all night long to get home to me. She always made me her first priority. Because the inn had been shut down, there was nothing to tie her down or stop her from coming to me in Chicago when I needed my Mom.

Esme invested in the inn, buying out half of the business at much more than the property was actually worth. Mom had a fit, but she was in a position where a decision had to be made. Find the money, or sell the inn. She agreed to Esme's proposal, she wasn't ready to let the inn go. Esme's money would give the sisters some working capital. The papers were signed making it a partnership before we left Chicago.

Esme declared that she was going to refurbish the inn beginning with the old wing. In the mean time, some handyman friend of my mother's would begin to make repairs to bring the newer portion up to code. I secretly wondered if my mother had a beau she'd not told us about. Certainly Esme would have known.

The original structure hadn't been inhabited in years. The roof had leaked, ruining some of the hardwood floors. It wasn't safe in its current state. Mom had been living in the newer part of the inn before it was condemned. By moving into the other wing, she would free up several rooms for her clientele.

When the inn was condemned, _the handyman_ moved a dilapidated RV into the garage level of the carriage house. Before coming to Chicago, Mom had been staying in it as a temporary fix. None of us really understood the gravity of her financial circumstances until we all got to Albany.

Even through the fog that seemed to constantly surround me, I realized I had failed her. By getting so wrapped up in my own drama, I never realized how she struggled each month to balance the books and make ends meet.

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Thanks for reading. Reviews are lovely.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters. Those belong to Stephenie Meyer. The story Sweetbriar, as well as any original plots or characterizations are copyright to me.**

Many thanks to Aleisha and Rachel for betaing. Your dedication and patience is always appreciated.

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~Sweetbriar~

_Chapter Four_

When we spent our first week in Albany with Carlisle and Esme in their new home, I was surprised how much stuff they had moved to Albany several weeks prior to the murders. The house was functional almost immediately. The guilt that I felt as I lay buried under the blankets of my bed, instead of helping my family finish getting settled in, only served to depress me further.

Esme's first order of business was to make some portion of the inn livable. My mother and I could impose on my aunt and uncle for only so long, before we wore out our welcome. My mother, knowing she would have to rely heavily on Esme for many things in the near future, wanted the quickest solution that would get us into our own home.

Since codes hadn't condemned the apartment in the carriage house, that was the most likely option. Because it was so small, she decided to turn the garage portion into living quarters, as well.

In no time Esme and a crew of carpenters had set up an attractive three bedroom home for us in the carriage house. It was agreed that when we got the inn up and running again, I would continue to reside in the carriage house until I got my shit straightened out. It was one of the first conscious decisions I'd made since we came here. If and when I decided to leave New York, Mom could rent it out or subdivide the property and sell it. She had no desire to live anyplace but the inn.

I was surprised one morning when Carlisle informed me that Esme had already moved Mom into the carriage house. For years the former owners had used the second floor of it as their residence. It was cramped, barely more than a studio apartment above a garage. It was located far away from the main building. When Mom originally took possession of the inn, she used it for storage.

Because Mom had been alone, with no employees, she had lived at the inn from the very beginning. She wanted to make herself accessible to the guests twenty four hours a day. She was very dedicated to her patrons. As soon as the inn was habitable again she was moving back in. I heard Carlisle say that Esme had designed a small suite for Mom on the second floor of the original inn. That portion of the structure was well over 200 years old. I was relieved that my mom would finally have the home she deserved.

The first floor of the inn would house four guest rooms, and with Mom moving out of the main portion of the building, three more rooms were opened up in that area as well. In total the renovation would open up seven additional rooms.

The original portion of the inn was built in 1785. In the early 1800s, the addition was built. I remember a humorous conversation between my family members over the 'addition'. I was no architect, but I understood that an addition is normally a smaller section that is added to an existing building. In this case, the addition in question was easily twice the size of the original building.

It was a 'Georgian' style design, but as Esme gave me my first real tour of the grounds, she explained that the inn was more of a Georgian architecture faux pas.

Apparently, a true Georgian style structure was entirely symmetrical. The windows were all the same size; they were all directly across the building from one another, or above and below one another. Simply put, you should be able to look in one window and be able to see out the one in the same position on the opposite side of the building. Doors were placed in the same manner. When you came in the front door, the back door was directly in front of you at the opposite side of the building.

The fact that this additional structure was added to an earlier building, was what made all the difference. I remember smiling and nodding my head as she explained. I tried to pay attention, in the event that there would be some sort of quiz later. Even at this age, my aunt was continually trying to bestow her knowledge on me. Due to the lack of symmetry that affected the building as a whole, a situation - seen greatly as a flaw - was created when the Georgian-style addition was added to the earlier structure.

I'm no architectural purist. It all just looked old to me.

The inn had a history about it. Esme explained that during the civil war, the family who owned the inn had set it up as a hospital to treat injured soldiers- however, very few were sent as far north as the Albany area, so the hospital didn't see many visitors. The few who did arrive were ones who were convalescing after being treated at Hart Island, New York; David's Island, New York or State Hospital in New Haven, Connecticut.

~SB~

The older section housed nine rooms. Coming into the small foyer there was a great room off to the right. The room was in a sad state of affairs. The water from a leaking roof in the room directly above this one had caused the horsehair plaster to crumble and fall from both the ceiling and the walls. The years of neglect were sorely evident here.

A large brick fireplace had apparently been the focal point of the room at one time. Along the wall sat an antique piano under a tarp. A few other pieces I recognized to be antique sat along the edges of the room in areas that appeared to have remained dry over the years.

When I looked at the floor, dark patches marked the areas that were unsafe to tread upon. Esme explained that the entire pine floor would have to be removed and replaced because it was so badly rotted. There was one spot where someone had actually attempted to walk across the room. The floor had subsided, leaving a large, human-shaped hole. My stomach turned, as I prayed that it hadn't been my mother who had fallen through into the grungy, dirt basement below.

Residing so far away from her, I'd become blissfully unaware of the circumstances surrounding my mother's living situation. It seemed that things began to fall apart shortly after she came here nearly twenty years ago. In actuality, the process may have begun much earlier. To hear her tell it, this property was a gem in the rough. It was a real find, one that with the proper attention could become a grand respite for weary travelers.

The first floor had held a large kitchen with a huge fireplace. It was the kind of big stone fireplace you could walk right into. A huge iron arm was firmly bolted to the stonework. A large copper cauldron still hung from the swing away arm; it was dingy and looked like it had seen better days. Closing my eyes, I could picture this being a busy kitchen with a large group of women contributing to the day's meals. I could almost smell the aroma of some heavy stew cooking in said kettle.

The first time I walked into the kitchen, I was transported back in time.

An old farm sink was situated under the window; a hand pump was the only source of water. The cupboards in the kitchen were sturdy, and, aside from needing a good cleaning, were in remarkably good condition. To my apparently untrained eye, they seemed to be the only thing in good condition in the entire room. Esme scolded me, pointing out the many attributes that I had overlooked.

The plan was to create an entranceway between this room and the newer building; she explained this older kitchen would be cleaned and retouched as little as possible. Esme wanted it to retain its historic appearance. She told me there was no way the codes enforcement officer would allow us to leave the old pump hooked up to the shallow well. She made some comment about giardiasis and water contamination. The pump would be disconnected and fitted to utilize the city water service.

When I left the kitchen to smoke a cigarette, I found myself in the attached pantry. It was huge with floor to ceiling shelves on all the walls. One large window, obscured by a dingy and tattered sheet of what was once clear plastic, provided enough light for me to be able to take in my surroundings. Old jars, covered in dust and cobwebs, sat on the shelves. A big old barrel sat on the floor along the far wall. The rooms smelled faintly of vinegar that had been overpowered by dust and grime. Most of these things would go to the dumpster, I decided.

Directly in front of me was a cavernous hole that I knew had to be the basement. It smelled musty and dirty. I had no desire to check that out. I shuddered again, thinking of the hole in the great room floor.

Stepping out onto the stoop, I packed down the cigarettes before pulling the gold string from around the top and opening them. Sitting down, I pulled out a bic lighter and lit it, cupping my hand around the flame to keep it from being blown out.

Someone cleared his throat and backhanded me in the bicep. I had been so caught up in my own thoughts, I never saw him sitting on the porch. I looked to my right to find a huge upturned paw next to my face. "Hey, can you spare a smoke, man? Name's Emmett, by the way. _You Ed_?" he asked boisterously.

The Paul Bunyan sized man had scared the crap out of me. It was one of those moments when you truly believed your heart had stopped.

Clutching my chest, I sputtered and coughed. "Um, yeah. _Edward_ Masen, and you are…?"

Ed was my dad, and it felt wrong to use his name; disrespectful in some way.

"_I _s_aid_ the name is Emmett, Emmett McCarty. Pleased to meet you, Ed. I'm Liz' handyman, been helping her keep this place afloat for a number of years now."

I thought about that as I handed him my smokes. "Here, go ahead."

He took a cigarette from the pack and lit it with a match he had struck on his jeans. He cupped his hands around it as he lit the cigarette that hung from the corner of his mouth. He flicked the match down and took a deep drag, sighing a little as he let the breath out.

"It's been a while since I had a ready roll. Usually make my own. Ran out of tobacco last night; didn't have time to get any this morning. Little Katie wanted braids this morning. I hate braids! Your ma has her spoiled."

"Katie?" I asked. I instantly wondered if she was his girlfriend. Surely any woman would be described as _little_ next to this behemoth of a man.

"Yeah, Katie's my kid. She lost her ma when she was a baby. It's just been the two of us for a long time. Liz sure has taken a shine to her."

I imagined my mom spoiling the child, knowing the little girl didn't have a mother. What I couldn't imagine was this big oaf with a child. I envisioned a plus-sized kid wearing bib overalls and a grungy tee shirt and holey sneakers. He didn't appear overly bright to me. _I wonder if he graduated high school._ I was never one to look down on someone because of their circumstances._ What's gotten into you, Edward? This man is obviously your mother's friend. What's with the hostility?_

Yet, I was irked that he had bragged about keeping the place afloat when it was blatantly obvious the ship had been on the brink of sinking for a very long time. I felt like this guy was responsible in some way for the circumstances my mother had gotten herself into. I suppose for now, he deserved the benefit of the doubt until I had all the details. I'd obviously missed a lot while I was lying around feeling sorry for myself.

"So…the place is condemned. What _exactly_ is it that you've _done_ to help my mom? From what I see, it might be more prudent to bulldoze the place down and start from scratch."

The big fellow sighed. He looked…deflated. "I moved here a few years ago from West Virginia. I was looking for work. Katie's ma was gone. I had lost my job. All I had was that RV your mom's been living in over at the carriage house. We were headed upstate, but we stopped at a diner in Albany. I saw an ad for a handyman. When I met your ma, this place was in bad shape; _real bad_, Ed. The old pipes were corroded and leaking. There was raw sewage in the back yard. About half the lights worked. The front porch was dry-rotted. Hell, every time it rained she would scurry up to the attic and put buckets and basins under the leaks in the roof. The other side of the house was too far gone when she got here to utilize it, so she used what was dry for storage and what-not, but darn little stays dry. I'm surprised it's not in worse shape than it is. "

The _good _half of the place barely looked habitable now; I didn't understand how my mother had come to be so destitute. In his defense, the porch _was_ brand new and looked sturdy and well constructed. "So, what happened, Emmett? How did it come to be condemned? It's not like this is downtown Albany. We're in the sticks out here."

"Damn prissy codes officer. That's what happened. Come out here in her high heels and tight skirt. She wanted to crawl around in the basement and the attic wearing a little pink hardhat. She's like damn Construction Site Barbie or some shit. She pulled out her code book and hit us with all kinds of violations." The big guy was turning red and I wondered if he had a heart condition or something.

"So, what? She singled my mom out? Was there something that sparked a visit? I remember my Uncle Carlisle saying someone filed a report out of spite." I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to intentionally hurt my mom. She'd give a stranger the shirt off her back if they needed it.

"Some hotshot prep from New York City stayed here with his girlfriend. She stepped in a small hole in one of the steps. Fell into the mud and ruined her outfit. She broke the heel off her designer shoe. When she told your ma they were $400 shoes, your ma took one look at 'em and said she wasn't giving her $400 because they were worn and scuffed. Seriously, Ed, they weren't in new condition. Your ma stuck to her guns, and the witch went to codes and reported us."

"Well, I _can_ see her point. The place _is_ in poor condition. Maybe Mom should just sell it and cut her losses." I thought about everything I had seen today, it would take nothing short of a miracle to make the place habitable. "I've only been through the small portion of the building. It doesn't look promising to me. It's a sinking ship; she should jump while she has the chance."

"No, Ed, you've seen the worst of it and if you knew your mother _at all_, you'd understand that selling this place isn't an option. That part of the old inn wasn't even inspected. She was only in the big house. Your ma explained she only uses the lil house for storage. The power had been shut off for years and there's no running water. Luckily, she didn't even question that. It's the little details she keeps coming back and hitting us with. Do you know every time she's here it costs your ma $100 for an inspection fee? She's here easily two or three times a week."

Emmett stubbed the butt of his cigarette and threw it in the ashtray. "Come on, I'll show you what we're looking at repairing. I'm glad you're back on your feet, I could sure use your help."

I followed Emmett across the sweeping back porch, thankful he didn't want to dig into my "story." I was too emotionally raw to even think about describing my past to anyone. We entered the back of the house through a very large commercial kitchen. This was nothing like where I had just come from. The counter tops were well-worn butcher block and the cabinets were handmade antiques like the ones in the previous kitchen. They were in need of some paint or something, but appeared sturdy.

The floors looked solid; they were the original wood planking, but they were in very nice condition. I was beginning to understand what Esme had told me when we were next door about "just cleaning the other side up, varnishing the floors and making modest repairs." This kitchen could easily be adjoined to the other one to make it easy to serve meals in there.

Two long, stainless steel tables ran down the center of the kitchen. A huge Hobart mixer sat in the corner and a meat slicer sat next to it on the counter. Above the work table was a pot rack, pots and pans in every size imaginable hanging from the framework. Further down the table, utensils hung in the same manner. A huge Viking range sat against the far wall. A large stainless steel commercial cooler resided next to the range.

Emmett let me take my time looking around. I recognized the name brands of the kitchen equipment-this stuff wasn't cheap.

"The kitchen is in good shape, and its good equipment. I haven't been here in years, where did it come from, it's new isn't it?" It _looked_ new. Yet, I couldn't imagine my mother having the ability to buy all this when she couldn't even keep the roof from leaking.

"She's been trying to do things around here a little at a time. A while back a restaurant down in Albany went under. They had just remodeled. She had been saving for new appliances for a long time. We stole these for next to nothing," he said with a huge grin.

"The auction was held during one of the worst blizzards last winter. The roads were impassible. I took Liz over there on my Arctic Cat. We were some of the only people there bidding on anything. Of course there were a few busybodies from town who walked over just to see what all was for sale. Your ma had cash and we snatched up all the really good stuff. After the snow was cleared, I got a few guys from down at the bowling alley to help me move them. Heck, some of it was still in the packaging."

I honestly wasn't sure what to say. A few minutes before, I was thinking the guy was taking my mom for her money, but now, I could see that he had apparently helped her with some things. Suddenly something crossed my mind. "Emmett, what's an 'Arctic Cat?"

"Oh, that's my snowmobile. Katie and I take it everywhere when it's too snowy to drive. It's _completely_ safe, Ed. Hey! Don't look at me like that! I take my kid on it, for crype's sake!"

I guess it couldn't be too bad if he took his kid on it, but I had to address this with my mom. I don't know if I liked the idea of _my mom_ riding around town on a snowmobile.

"Come on, Ed, we have cats to kill and chickens to fry. Let's get moving." He pounded me on the back so hard I nearly fell over.

I had no clue what he had just said, so my educated reply had been, "Huh?"

Esme was chuckling as I walked past her into the formal dining area. "You'll learn, Edward… live here long enough and you'll learn." Then she got real close and whispered, "It means you're wasting time."

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters. Those belong to Stephenie Meyer. The story Sweetbriar, as well as any original plots or characterizations are copyright to me.**

Many thanks to Susanpr for pre-reading. Hyacinthgirl118 beta'd _super fast_ so you could have this early. Thanks Rachel! You rock!

Next chapter on November 7.

Thanks to Susan for passing this LadyExcalibur2010 and coldplaywhore, who in turn have spread the word. To anyone else who has spread the word, if I'm missed you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Words can never express my gratitude.

If you've found Sweetbriar because of a rec from someone, please drop me a PM so that I may give thanks where it is due. My readership has grown expotentially since the last chapter.

* * *

~Sweetbriar~

_Chapter 5_

The remainder of that first day with Emmett was spent exploring the inn and formulating a plan of attack with my aunt. Esme had sat us down with her blueprints and explained her designs for the new bedrooms, several new communal bathrooms, and my mother's new wing.

I was pleased with the new developments. My mother would finally realize her dreams. Esme was putting her architectural skills to good use and we were all here... together. I had drifted away from my family after Mom had left Chicago. I tried to spend a few hours catching up with Carlisle and Esme when I could, but the fact was, I just hadn't prioritized.

Yet, looking back, I felt no guilt for all the lazy Sunday afternoons I'd spent with my lovely wife, finding any excuse to turn down dinner with my aunt and uncle. Now, I realized, those memories were golden. There would never be new ones. Sometimes fate has a way of making things work out like that.

The events of the past few months had brought me back into the fold. Slowly, I had begun to feel better under Carlisle's watchful eye. The nightmares were still a nightly occurrence, but by day, my demons seemed to remain at bay and life had taken a semblance of normalcy.

This Emmett character seemed to have my mother wrapped around his little finger. I didn't know if I liked him or not. On some level, I was a little jealous, realizing he was closer to my mother than I was. _Hell, who was I kidding? I was more than a _little_ jealous!_

After Emmett left one day, Esme and I had a heart to heart. She explained the situation with Emmett and how my mother explained to her that he had held the codes inspector at bay for months; if it hadn't been for him, she would have been homeless months sooner than she was. Esme explained that while he didn't appear to be well educated, he possessed exemplary carpentry skills and we couldn't afford anyone else. From time to time he could scrounge up a crew of capable volunteers who would, for a hearty home cooked meal or two, jump in and help with one of the bigger projects such as putting on a roof or putting up a roomful of drywall in a very short amount of time. She told me Emmett had an uncanny knack for finding incredible deals on the things that we needed and connections we could never make on our own. She put it simply- we needed him. We couldn't complete this project without Emmett.

She stressed that working hours commenced at 9am and ended promptly at 3pm. Emmett was not, she said, available to work before or after school. We'd work weekends as well, and I was expected to pitch in and help, just like the rest of the family. Apparently, the good doctor had decided I was well enough to work.

Suddenly, I realized I'd miss the cozy cocoon I'd inhabited since I'd come here. I had never done any sort of manual labor and if I was being completely honest- it scared me a little bit. I was a detective, with a desk, and a briefcase. Chasing a suspect was about as physical as my job could get. It was still much different from what I suspected my family expected from me.

Carlisle, wearing a set of coveralls and a tool belt, told me we had a limited length of time to make our repairs or the codes department could legally exercise their right of eminent domain and take the inn away from my mother and Esme. They could tear it down and sell the property. As much as I disliked the old money pit, it was more than just my mother's livelihood; the daily responsibilities that came with running the inn helped her get through the loss of my father. It meant the world to her to get it back up and running, and I'd do everything in my power to make certain it didn't fall into the wrong hands.

I'd been working under Emmett's skillful supervision as we began the job of tearing up all the rotten floorboards and ripping down all the water damaged plaster walls. According to him, I was best suited for demolition.

Day after day I pulled up boards full of rusty nails. After stepping on one of those nasty nails, I found myself sitting in _Dr. Cullen's_ new office as he cleaned what he described as a badly infected puncture wound. He gave me a tetanus shot and sent me back to work. Emmett showed his sympathy by punching my sore arm after he caught me "being a baby." According to him, I was the wimpiest assistant he'd ever had to deal with.

Every afternoon, when Emmett left to gather his kid, I had the pleasure of hauling a truckload of rotted pine boards or other discarded materials to the local dump. Behind the truck, I pulled a trailer that had been filled with garbage cans full of plaster. Before long, we had removed everything from the old section of the inn that had been water damaged from the second floor and the attic. You could now stand in the great room and look all the way up to the sheeting for the roof in some places. I had a feeling of self worth I'd never experienced before. It was… oddly… satisfying.

Like they had since I came here, I found that my days all ran together, but not in a bad way. I was beginning to understand Carlisle's logic. They were successfully occupying my mind with busy things from dawn to dusk. I'd crawl into bed so bone-achingly tired that I fell into a deep slumber without the aid of chemical sleep aids. My mind had successfully been distracted. Little by little, the night terrors were lessening.

Towards the end of the first week of the demolition phase, Emmett mentioned over a thermos of coffee that he would be away Saturday morning, but he had made arrangements for a "replacement."

I realized the guy had a real sense of humor when I walked into the great room to begin pulling up the floor Saturday. Sitting on an upturned five gallon plaster bucket was a little slip of a girl playing some hand held video game. She wore a pair of jeans and a purple tee shirt. On her head sat the tiniest pink hardhat I'd ever seen. Her blonde hair hung in unevenly proportioned braids.

_What the hell? I was here to work, _not_ babysit! _She couldn't have been more than six.

I snorted and began working, ignoring the kid. I had worked for about an hour when my crowbar got hung up between a board and a floor joist. Working around the old brick fireplace, it had gotten stuck somehow and no matter which way I twisted, or pulled, it wouldn't let go. I took a hammer out of the toolbox and began hammering on it. When that didn't work, I pulled out the big guns and began using a three pound sledge hammer. Suddenly and with no warning whatsoever the board spring loose, as the crowbar came up, slamming me in the jaw.

"_FUCK!" _

I'm pretty sure I saw stars. Scratch that- I _did_ see stars. Holding my jaw, I heard snickering coming from the bucket in the corner of the room.

"Ohhhhh! _I'm tel-lin! _My daddy says that's a bad word."

I'd been subjected to the damn videogame music all morning and not said a word, but this was too much. "Why don't you go find someone else to harass, kid? You're really irritating me!"

I expected her to burst into tears and run crying from the room. Instead, she set the toy down and walked over to where I was standing. Stepping up onto the hearth of the fireplace, she put her hands on her hips and looked up at my face, not saying a word as she surveyed the damage. She cocked her head, to one side and then the other. She hopped down from the hearth and walked out of the room, carefully avoiding the places where no boards covered the floor. The damn videogame still played computerized music in the background, but the kid was no longer scrutinizing my every mood. I had felt like big brother was watching me all morning.

I sat down on the hearth, holding my head in my hands. I thought back over the past few weeks. This was _hard_ work. My body ached. I had hurt myself more times since I'd begun this crazy partnership with Emmett than I'd gotten hurt my _entire_ life. I needed a break. I was done for the day. I was just going to sit for a few minutes and let the throbbing subside before I began cleaning up my tools. I hadn't had a day off in two weeks.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't hear her quiet approach. A tiny hand tugged on the knee of my coveralls. She held a first aid kit in one hand, and a bag of frozen veggies was under her arm. _Aww. The kid is gonna play nurse._ She _was_ kind of cute. I guess I could endure it before I turned her over to my mom. I'd play along. Things couldn't get _much_ worse. _Could they?_

She set everything down beside me and opened the first aid box. She pulled some sort of wipe out, rubbing it over my sore jaw. I was surprised to see the blood on it. She took another packet from the box and tore it open, revealing a wipe saturated with something orange. "This might hurt a bit," she giggled before pressing it to my face.

"Shit!" I swore as she continued to giggle. The stuff really burned.

"Hold still, Eddie!" she chirped as she blew on my face. I was surprised when it eased the burning.

My eyes closed, I heard her opening paper. I felt her pat on a Band-Aid, and then another onto the side of my face. She put the bag of mixed veggies against my chin. "Hold that for a few minutes."

I watched her clean everything up and take it away. She came back to where I was sitting and silently held out her hand. I gave the bag of frozen food back to her.

"There, all better. Get back to work."

There she stood, hands on her hips again, waiting. I didn't budge.

"Come on, Eddie. We have _got_ to get done before my daddy comes back with the new floor boards."

I didn't know he was off buying materials today; I figured he had something personal to do. It was a Saturday, after all.

"Nah, kid, I'm done for the day. Get out of the road so I can clean my tools up."

"Come on, Eddie! You're burning daylight!"

I think I growled. The kid was a little dictator. And where did _she_ get off- calling _me_ Eddie?

I reached down and picked her up under her arms. I turned to the side and set her back down so she was out of my way and I could put all my tools in the five gallon bucket Emmett had given me. "Look, kid, let's get something straight. First of all, my name is Edward. _Not_ Eddie, _not_ Ed. Ed_-ward_. Understand?" She nodded.

"Secondly, you're _not_ the boss of me." _Hell, what was I saying? I was starting to sound like a little kid. What grown- up says that?_

I turned around when someone burst into laughter. An overall clad Carlisle stood in the doorway, holding a tray with two mugs of coffee and a juice box. "I see you've met Katie. It's time for a break; your mom sent a snack."

I noticed a plate with a pile of my mom's famous light and fluffy sugar cookies smack dab in the middle of the tray. I sighed. It was a losing battle. I couldn't resist my mom's cookies. Carlisle came over and set the tray on an upturned bucket; he and the kid took seats on either side of me on the hearth.

"So… Katie said the crowbar got the best of you. Would you like me to take a look?" Carlisle was trying not to snicker at me.

"No, Old Man, I believe I've been properly treated. If I've got any complications, I'll come see you." It seemed like I'd been in his damn office nearly every evening since I began working on this project.

He reached across me and gave the kid's knee a squeeze. "I'm considering hiring her on as a nurse as soon as my practice is open." I could tell she'd already worked her spell on my uncle.

"I'm done for the day, Pops. I'm hurt and I've got it almost finished. I'll come back tomorrow and rip up the rest of this floor." I drained my coffee cup and grabbed another of the giant cookies as I stood to leave.

Carlisle grabbed my hand and stood up. "That won't work today, Edward. Emmett will be back any minute with a crew of guys. He's got a friend who owns a salvage company over in

Troy— they just demolished a Civil War era home. The hardwood floors were in really good condition. We got an excellent price on the flooring, but there's so much that they had no place to store it indoors. They practically gave it to Emmett; we can't afford pass up an opportunity like that. It'll get ruined if it gets rained on. I'm sorry, son."

My uncle stood up and wiped off the seat of his pants. "I've got to go make room to store some of that flooring when it gets here. Emmett and his crew are planning on laying as much of it as possible today and tonight. Please get the rest of this flooring torn up as quickly as possible. They'll put the floor down today if you have it ready."

I had about one quarter of the floor left to remove. I decided to just tear it up and put the boards in a pile; snipping off the nails could wait until later. I started in the corner of the room, standing on my piece of plywood. As I worked from board to board, I took two small squares of plywood with me. They were just large enough for me to kneel on to work. As I pulled up a few boards and ran out of floor, I'd place the other square down and stand on it. Hand over hand it went like this as I went along. A runway of two sturdy boards ran the width of the room from my pile of boards to the exit. Other than that, the floor was now non-existent.

Emmett had teased me and said most of his _normal_ helpers just walked along the floor joists, but he was afraid my _pansy ass_ would end up in the basement and I'd be rendered useless. He said, "I can't afford to waste the time being a wet nurse while you recuperate from a broken leg like I did for your mother." I felt sick when he said it. Somehow I just _knew_ that she had made that hole in the floor. I swore to myself that I'd never get so far away from my family again.

I had just two short boards left to remove from along the edge of the fireplace hearth when I discovered it.

Looking up, along the brickwork and peeking oh so slightly out of the plaster, I noticed a dirty rag. I'd found others like this, but as I pulled it out, this was somehow different from how the others had been. Over the years, the former owners had taken anything they could find to be used as insulation, filling the little gaps as they needed to. I'd burned garbage cans full of old rags, crumpled papers, even bundles of corn husk.

Yanking on the filthy hunk of material, it fell onto the last floorboard with a thud. Before it fell to the basement below, I managed to grab the edge of it. With unsteady hands I unrolled the oil cloth to reveal a rather large bundle. Several leather bound books, rolled and secured with a length of rawhide, encased bundles of paper and photographs. I rolled it back up and dusted it off as well as I could. I turned, and with all of the courage and grace that I could muster, I made a beeline for the other side of the room where my backpack lay. Without looking down into the basement below me and losing my nerve, I scurried across the floor joist. Quickly, I slipped the bundle into my back pack. I had no idea _what_ I had stumbled across, but somehow it _seemed_ important, if someone had taken the time to hide it.

I had no sooner hidden my little treasure than I heard the unmistakable rumble of Emmett's truck. Looking back across the room, I realized I had one more board to remove. I inched my way across the floor joist, my arms held out away from my body for balance. The booming laughter behind me almost caused me to lose my balance and fall into the dark recesses of the basement, it was so unexpected.

"What are you doing, Ed? What's your plywood doin' all the way across the room?"

I didn't want to tell Emmett, or anyone else for that matter, what I had found until I'd had time to investigate it. The detective in me had resurfaced full force and he was just dying to dig into this little mystery. I was certain I'd be disappointed, and it would be nothing more than some old family documents or something, but I didn't want to divulge my little secret until I knew with certainty what I'd stumbled upon. Still lingering in the mindset of the kid who had distracted me all morning, I said the first thing that came to mind. "Potty break."

Emmett howled in response. "_Seriously, _Ed_, potty break? No freakin' way! _What carpenter takes a _potty break, _Ed? Katie doesn't even take potty breaks!"

I hung my head in embarrassment as the Amish carpenters began to make their way across the room to remove the pile of boards I'd removed but not yet taken outside. At least they respected me and refrained from laughing at me.

Within a few hours, the floor was laid and I was given a floor sander to begin prepping it for varnish. As I sanded with the big machine, my iPod blaring in my ears, I thought about the events of the morning. On more than one occasion my dignity had been dashed to the rocks, but my secret had remained intact.

I smiled as I looked across the room to my backpack, knowing I'd soon be able to untangle my little mystery.

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Thanks for reading.

Please review.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters. Those belong to Stephenie Meyer. The story Sweetbriar, as well as any original plots or characterizations are copyright to me.**_

A/N: A huge thanks to Susanpr for pimping and pimping and pimping Sweetbriar. Girl, you've been such an inspiration. She's also a mighty fine pre-reader, too. ;-)

Thanks to Rachel for betaing on her day off. You rock!

Next chapter- about two weeks.

I apologize for the short chapter, but it's full of information. So many of you have asked what was going to happen, and I've asked for your patience, not wanting to spoil what was about to unfold. Thanks for hanging in there with me. I suspect this chapter will answer many questions.

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~Sweetbriar~

Chapter Six

It had been a long day, made exponentially worse by the burning need to get away from everyone else so that I could examine my discovery without the scrutiny of prying eyes. While I had been pulling up boards in the great room, Carlisle and Esme had gone over the electrical service to the kitchen to ensure its safety, and by the time the Amish carpenters were done laying the flooring in the great room and on the second floor, a feast, fit for a king, awaited us all in the dining room.

I could barely contain my excitement as I suffered through the huge dinner my mother and Esme put together for Emmett's carpenters. For the first time in weeks, I wolfed my meal down, just wanting to get done so I could go back to the privacy of my room at the carriage house. I would have had to be blind to not notice the smiles that passed between Esme, Carlisle and Mom. I was sure they assumed that if they worked me this hard every day I'd begin eating like a normal person again. If they only knew why I was in a hurry...

I grabbed a handful of my mom's sugar cookies and bundled them in a large paper napkin. I suspected a long night would lie ahead of me. Muttering something about wanting to work on Tanya's case and not wanting to be disturbed, I kissed Mom goodnight and asked her not to bother me when she came back home. She looked perplexed, but nodded as she busied herself with putting away the leftovers from dinner.

Eagerly, but gingerly, I placed my backpack on the passenger seat of my Volvo and headed down the lane. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so alive. I wasn't sure what had gotten into me, but I knew...I just _knew_ something exciting was about to happen.

It was dusk when I pulled into the parking area. Grabbing my pack, I headed inside and made a pot of coffee. Taking the 2-quart carafe from the cupboard, I dumped sugar and creamer into the thermos while I waited for the brew to stop. I wasn't sure why, but I suspected I'd be awake into the early hours of the next morning.

I settled into my room with my confections and caffeine. I set up a folding table I'd seen my mom put in the hall closet before locking my door and placing the chair I'd be sitting in right up against the knob. I did_ not_ want to be interrupted.

I took the dirty bundle from my backpack, dusting it off over my trashcan before removing the covering. Originally it looked like the dirty oilcloth I'd seen in other places in the house, but, realized upon further inspection that it was some sort of tapestry type material. Someone had rolled it up and secured it with a rawhide strap. With shaking hands, I untied my treasure. Ever so gently, I placed the items onto my table. There were several soft, leather bound books, a bundle of envelopes that were tied together with cotton twine and several loose photographs. Suddenly my room seemed to fill with the musty, damp smells of the old inn.

The books were dilapidated and dirty. The binding was broken, the covers falling off of them. There were no markings on the outside of the grungy brown books. Cautiously, afraid they would disintegrate in my hands, I opened the book. The first page bore a name and a date, _Isabella Whitlock, 1855, _and below that, _Happy 13th Birthday, Izzy_. I opened the book to the first pages and my eyes fell to the antiquated script. The scrawl looked like that of a young girl— loopy and slightly messy. Were these diaries? Disappointment stung my high hopes. When I'd pulled the bundle from the wall, I had been certain that I had unearthed some priceless mystery from the past. I gently flipped through the first few pages. The entries were sporadic, and short. They spoke often of Miss. Payne— a school marm who was quick with a ruler when Isabella's handwriting was sloppy and crooked. I noticed, with a smile, that the handwriting began to improve after several entries.

Not quite ready to give up, I poured a cup of coffee and settled in to read the private musings of a young girl who put ink to paper more than a hundred years ago. Hoping to learn more about this mystery girl, I opened the second diary. The spine of the book was badly broken, with nothing to hold the pages in place. A page of paper fluttered to the floor. Setting the book on the table, I stooped to retrieve it. Scratched in pencil and barely legible, I realized it was an entry from 1863.

_We barely escaped the tracker and his pack of dogs last night. Jacob carried me on his back as we traveled upstream through a river bed. Thankfully, because it's been hot, the water was low. Several times Jacob lost his footing and we both got wet. I could barely hold onto Jacob's neck last night; I was so ill. Tomorrow night we hope to visit a conductor with medical schooling. Jacob is afraid there is something bad wrong that is making me so sick._ _My belly hurts all the time. Jacob has been so good to me, sneaking off to catch fish or find clean drinking water for me. I keep telling him I'll be fine after we get to Jasper's house. Jasper will take care of us._

I didn't understand. Were these the journals of a slave girl? Customarily, slaves were not taught to read or write. _Why_ was she being tracked by a bunch of dogs? What was making her sick? A million thoughts passed through my mind. My hands shook so badly I had to set the book down to keep it from falling apart. I couldn't imagine what other secrets I was going to stumble across.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine this girl from the antebellum south; I could almost picture her here sitting at a small table writing in the dim glow of a kerosene lamp.

With the utmost caution, I turned to the front of the book. I felt like I was in shock as I began to read. This girl, this Isabella, was telling me who she was and what had happened to her. She was relaying to me all of the places she had been and what she had seen. I suddenly realized that I could very well be living life on the Underground Railroad through the eyes of a young girl.

I was overwhelmed with the prize I had sitting in my hands. Setting the book on the table, I drew a deep breath and tried to clear my head to make sense of all of this. Where did I begin? There was so much in front of me to be explored. The voice in my head replied, _Why don't you start at the beginning._ I could almost hear the youthful voice of Isabella, taunting me to dig in and discover the secret she had left me. Obviously this had been left here for someone to find. Somebody didn't want Isabella to be lost to the sands of time.

For the first time since the murders, I looked forward to the silence that nighttime brought forth. Soon my mother would be home and head off to her room and for hours, I would be able to enjoy the quiet solitude that could only come while my mother was lost in her slumber.

Picking up the bundle of envelopes, I marveled at their simplicity. While many were plain, dirty paper, some were intricately embossed with a raised design of some sort. These were sent during a time when _Isabella Whitlock, Lynchburg, VA_ was enough information to ensure delivery to their rightful owner. To say I was transfixed would have been an understatement. So many emotions coursed through me as I fingered the delicate missives.

For the first time since I left Chicago, I felt myself slipping back into my Detective Masen persona. If this was a case, how would I have handled it?

I went to the coat closet and grabbed my brief case, opening it— I was momentarily overcome with the aroma that hit me. It smelled of my life— _my life_ back when I _had_ a life. It smelled like... home. A home I'd never return to. My first instinct was to slam it shut and save it so that I could open it over and over, repeatedly punishing myself in some sick, twisted way. I tended to be a masochist, but that didn't mean everyone around me wanted to endure another setback.

Thinking of the family I still had left, and what my job had cost _them_ as well, I left the briefcase open, allowing the sweet smells of home to surround me like a blanket while I worked. The next time it would be fainter, and eventually it would be gone, and while the healing wouldn't be as quick as ripping off a band aid, in the long run, this would be better than the perpetual punishment I had originally considered.

I removed the tools of my trade, a notebook and my favorite pen. I pulled out my PDA and after plugging it in, I opened the calendar program— by changing the date, I could actually _see_ what day of the week each entry was written. I pulled out my long-forgotten laptop and fired it up. It had been idle so long, I wondered if the battery would even take a charge. Esme had installed internet as soon as she had moved Mom and me into the carriage house, saying it was a necessity for running the inn, but I'd yet to use it.

It wasn't long before my internet explorer loaded. I pulled up my email program, and saw that it was full. The last mail had come weeks ago. I imagined by now they had decided it was a lost cause. _I had been a lost cause then. I'd like to think I was getting better._

I Googled the Civil War... Lynchburg, Virginia... anything I could think of that would give me a timeline.

I spread everything from the bundle on the table. The term carpet bag came to mind. It was a makeshift suitcase made out of heavy material, like this tapestry that was bundled together with rawhide. That was, no doubt, the very bundle Isabella carried with all her worldly possessions as she was fleeing whatever it was that chased her out of the south.

There were a lot of letters. I noticed that they were not bundled in any particular order, although some of them appeared to have been read over and over. I sorted the envelopes by the addressee. Some were written to an Isabella Whitlock, some but not many to an Isabella Newton, and others were addressed to an Alice Brandon and, later, Alice Whitlock. There were also letters to Isabella Whitlock at Abingdon, VA.

The journals were literally falling apart at the seams. I tried to push the delicate papers back into the binding and set them off onto a stack of their own. Then there were the pictures. There were pictures of a couple; the tall blonde man was young, mid twenties, wearing a Civil War uniform. Next to him, stood a petite girl who couldn't have been more than twenty. She was small and waiflike with dark hair and pale skin. In stark contradiction to most pictures I'd seen from that era, the couple was smiling at each other. They looked to be very much in love.

Another picture, showed the couple later in life with a small raven haired child.

The third picture showed a young girl with huge doe eyes. Her hair was dark and pulled back into the customary bun most women wore in that era.

The next picture showed doe eyes with the blonde gent; they didn't appear to be teenagers, yet. I assumed they were brother and sister. They sat on some sort of carpet covered bench, a woman with dark hair sitting directly behind them in a large chair, a man with dark hair and a bushy mustache standing behind her with his hand on her shoulder. I assumed this was Isabella with her family. I turned the picture over, and barely legible, written in smudged lead, were the names. Charles Whitlock, Renee Whitlock, Jasper Whitlock, Isabella Whitlock. Summer, 1850.

Next, I came across another small picture of the raven-haired child. She was adorable and wore period clothing, a white parasol resting over her shoulder. I turned it over; the back of the photograph labeled her as Gabriella Ruth Whitlock.

Finally— there was a photograph of Isabella with a different man. He looked to be about ten years older than Isabella. His hair was light. Neither of them appeared to be happy. I assumed that was Mr. Newton.

Not wanting to damage the very worn and fragile originals, I stepped out of my room to go to my mother's desk. I was relieved to hear her snoring in her room. I didn't want to explain myself tonight. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it was nearly 3am. I fired up the all-in-one printer/scanner and made copies of the photos.

With a pad of sticky notes, I began to dissect the mystery as if it were a case. I wrote the names of the Whitlock family on the first page and stuck it to the border of the photograph. Based on the envelopes, I assumed that the other young woman was Alice Brandon/Whitlock with Jasper Whitlock. I labeled it as such. Each one of the photos was tentatively labeled.

I remembered that there was a dry erase board, and some other things that had been used at the inn, in the hall closet. I rummaged around and located the dry erase board Mom used to post the menu each day, before she had been shut down. I also found a cork board, a box of thumb tacks, and some dry erase markers. I dragged everything back to my room. Before long my bedroom looked like one of the temporary headquarters we'd set up while working a case.

I pinned the copies of all the photographs up on the corkboard and sketched out a family tree on the dry erase board. It was official; Detective Masen had made an appearance.

From what I could decipher from the information before me, Isabella began the journals at the age of thirteen in 1855 and they continued into the late 1860s. The final journal was dated 1869, and had the name Alice Whitlock inscribed on the inside of the front cover.

Flipping through the journals, it appeared that the first one spanned a number of years; the entries were sporadic. Isabella talked of teas and cotillions, and ice cream socials in the summer time. There was mention of her parents and her brother, and someone named Nanny. Based on several of the entries, I assumed that Nanny was Isabella's nurse or nursemaid.

From time to time I felt myself nodding off. I poured cup after cup of coffee from the thermos and before I realized what time it was, I could see the gray sky outside my window; a new day was beginning. I'd been awake all night exploring a world that most people could only imagine. It gave me goose bumps, looking over my discovery. I was excited and nervous... and totally sucked in.

I decided it would be best to try and get a little sleep. Not quite ready to share this with anyone, I began to systematically gather the information. I took a calming breath before I dumped the contents of my briefcase onto my bed. I knew the next time I opened it, all traces of home would be gone, or at the very least intermingled with the musty odors from Isabella's documents. It was almost as if I were replacing Tanya with Isabella, and it tugged at my heart to do so, but I had no place safe to hide everything and somehow I knew this was important.

I piled the stacks of letters, the copies I'd made and the original photographs neatly inside. On top, I placed the journals. My thin briefcase was getting full. I left my electronics on the table and set the combination lock on my case. I wasn't ready to share my secret with anyone. While my family meant well, they were notoriously nosy and I didn't want to leave anything lying around until I was ready to share on my terms.

After wiping it down, I stuffed the dry erase board along with the corkboard under my bed. No one would bother them there.

Crawling into bed, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction; however, that satisfaction was eclipsed by the nagging questions that followed me into slumber.

Who was Isabella Whitlock/Newton and why did someone take the time to hide her personal possessions so carefully?

Why were her things here in Albany, NY, when everything clearly showed that she was from Lynchburg, VA?

She mentioned a conductor; I knew that at some point she had been traveling the Underground Railroad, but... why?

Why was she running? Because, based on the one page that had fallen from the second journal— it was obvious she was running.

Who was she running from?

And who was Jacob?

* * *

Fic Rec: My pal Shirley007 has written a new O/S called The Grand Escape. I'm not normally a Team Jasper sort of girl, but I have to say I really enjoyed it and was honored when she asked for my input. Incidentally, The Grand Escape is an entry in the Many Faces of Jasper Contest, see the link in my profile. Reading over some of these stories has sort of set the mood for the Jasper interaction that is forthcoming in Sweetbriar. Go check it out, especially if you're a Jasper kind of girl.

Thanks for reading. Please drop a line and let me know what you think. How am I doing? I'd love to know. I welcome constructive criticism. For me, it's a learning experience.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters. Those belong to Stephenie Meyer. The story Sweetbriar, as well as any original plots or characterizations are copyright to me.**_

Susan, and the Debbies pre-read. Rachel beta'd. Thanks ladies for everything. You are so very awesome!

* * *

~Sweetbriar~

Chapter Seven

I curled into my bed, and despite how tired as I was, sleep didn't come easily. I knew they would let me sleep this morning, and even if they did choose to pester me, I realized my door was still locked and I wasn't bound to get out of bed to do anything about that.

Sundays were sacred around Sweetbriar. The Amish workers went to meeting on Sunday; it was considered sacrilege for them to work. Since they weren't here, Sunday was the one day of the week where everyone milled around in sweats or lounge wear, drinking coffee and nibbling at whatever Mom had put out for breakfast.

Now that the kitchen at the inn was up and running, I felt certain they'd all gather over there, rather than invade the tiny carriage house. My privacy here was almost guaranteed.

I tossed and turned as sleep evaded me. My exhaustion was relentless while I pondered over my spoils, but now in quiet contemplation— I couldn't shut off the new thoughts that haunted me. Who were these people? How did these articles come to be hidden in my mother's home? Unbidden images from the photographs flashed through my mind. At some point after the sun came up, I must have drifted off.

The dreams were vivid. Bright flashes of color burst behind my eyelids. Images of Isabella with her family, at some sort of picnic. Isabella swinging on a rope swing that hung from a huge tree near a river, laughing as her honey-haired brother pushed her higher and higher. I pictured the little girl with jet black hair as she pushed her china doll in a beautiful wicker doll buggy. And last, an image of Isabella hugging her brother next to a stage coach. Subconsciously, I knew he was separated from the rest of the family.

Suddenly, the images turned darker... Isabella running in the night, barefoot, holding her belly as she panted and fought to catch her breath. A faceless boy carrying her, effortlessly, on his back. I could hear the sound of dogs in the distance. I could almost feel her fear.

I woke with a start holding my chest as I labored to catch _my_ breath. I felt like I had been running in a marathon.

I looked at the clock on my nightstand. It was after 1pm. The house was quiet.

Stepping out of bed, I made my way over to the thermos and shook it. Of course I had emptied it last night. Scratching my head and contemplating everything that had occurred since last night's dinner, I decided it was time to forage for something to eat and a healthy dose of caffeine.

When I opened my door, I was hit with the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. I made a beeline for the kitchen. The coffee machine was still on, a healthy amount of the black gold still in the carafe. I could tell she had left me several cups. _Thank you Mother! _

Turning to the table for cream and sugar, I noticed a cellophane-wrapped plate with a sticky note on top. The note stated that Mom had gone with my aunt and uncle to buy antiques for the guest rooms. I was on my own for the day. Lifting the plastic wrap, I found pancakes, eggs... bacon. I didn't bother to warm it. Folding one of the huge pancakes in half, I filled it with eggs and bacon. It made a tasty sandwich, I realized. Alternating bites of food with gulps of coffee, I began to feel human again. I glanced over the Sunday paper as I stood next to the table. I drained my coffee and dumped the remains of what was in the pot into my cup and just finished it black. There wasn't enough to bother adding cream or sugar. I folded over the second pancake and loaded it as I had the first one. My plate went into the sink and I headed back to my room.

Since I knew my day would be uninterrupted, I pulled my mystery project from my briefcase and began to read.

The entries in the first journal were sporadic. Much of it concerned school and gossip about the girls who attended with Isabella. Tucked inside the book was a small envelope. I pulled it open and cautiously removed a tiny card. Inside the card was a delicate sheet of paper folded into sixths.

The card read, _To Isabella from Jasper and Alice_. I carefully opened the floral sheet of stationary. The writing was different from that on the card or in the inscription of the book.

_Dearest Isabella, _

_I hope you enjoy the journal. I helped Jasper pick it out for you. Writing is a great way to practice your penmanship and the journal is a place to hide away your most private thoughts. I can't wait to meet you. After the wedding, Jasper and I will come down so I can finally meet you and my new family. I know you and I will be great friends. This is so exciting! I always wanted a sister, Izzy. Now I have you._

_Happy Birthday!_

_Love,_

_Alice_

I put the card and letter back into the tiny envelope.

My next move conjured up so many questions, they made my head ache. Intending to just look through the large stack of envelopes in order to compare dates, and not really being as attentive as I should have been, the unthinkable occurred. Something in my hand shifted and a few envelopes fell from my grasp. Scurrying to keep them all together, I ended up dropping the entire stack on the floor. They lay, scattered in all directions. Being careful not to cause myself more confusion, I pushed the envelopes together the way they fell. I'd have to take some time and sit and catalogue them all, but not today.

Looking to my left, just under the edge of my nightstand, I spied a straggler that nearly didn't get back into the pile. I leaned down to pick it up. When I turned it over, my breath caught. The envelope was addressed to Isabella Newton, Sweet Briar Plantation in Lynchburg, VA.

_What the hell... ?_

How was _that_ possible? We were at a historic house in Albany, NY, and I was reading papers and journals that were almost 200 years old, about a place whose name was nearly identical to my new home. Other than the name being two words, it was the same.

I replaced the envelope to its home, and moved forward. I tried not to let Sweetbriar/Sweet Briar distract me. I'd have to look into that later.

I carefully waded through more journal entries that were nothing more than the ramblings of a school girl, before I ran across the next item of interest.

The entry was dated June of 1856. Isabella was fourteen.

_I met Michael Newton last week. He seemed kind enough, but I know he's much older than I. _

_It was a pie and ice cream social at the Presbyterian Church and I was fetching a glass of lemonade for Daddy when he walked up behind me and bid me hello. I could feel the blush creep up my neck and onto my cheeks as I stared at the plush green grass underfoot. __. I was caught off guard; most boys didn't talk to me. His attention made me feel giddy, at first, but, something didn't feel good about him being so close. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked up. __I didn't dare look up;, I was unaccompanied and Mother would have my hide if I spoke to him. I took the lemonade, and hastily turned to go when my skirt caught on something and I fell, spilling the sugary concoction down my front._

_Mr. Newton reached under my arm and helped me up, asking me where my parents were. I pointed across the church yard, explaining that I was bringing a drink to Daddy when I had fallen. Still embarrassed, I looked at the ground as I made my way back to my parents, carrying the second glass, Mr. Newton close on my heels._

_Daddy and Mr. Newton were engaged in conversation, as Mother dragged me back to the buggy to find a rag in the basket she kept in the back for situations such as this. When she was certain that I was again presentable, we returned to our spot in the shade. Daddy and Mr. Newton were discussing the foundry and Mr. Newton's business with the railroads. _

_Mother and I sat next to the river, listening to nature as we watched the younger children running and playing. Mother hummed as she brushed my hair and plaited it. I heard bits and pieces of the conversation between Daddy and Mr. Newton, but it I knew it was rude to eavesdrop, so I ignored them as much as I could. However, I was pulled from my day dreaming when Mr. Newton asked Daddy if I was spoken for. Mother must have heard him as well, for I could feel her stiffen at his words. She pushed on me, silently telling me to stand, so she could get up. She quickly took my hand and led me off in the direction of the tables where the woman of the church had begun to clean up. "Let's help clear this up, Isabella, so we can get home."_

_Little was said between my parents as we made our way home that afternoon. Mother was nervously fingering the strings on her bonnet as Daddy drove the horses, a grim expression set on his normally happy features. When Daddy helped me down from the buggy, he looked at me sternly. "Go to your room, Isabella."_

Why? I hadn't done anything wrong, had I? _"But Daddy, why? What's wrong? I didn't mean to spill the lemonade." I knew I was sulking, but I could think of nothing else I'd done wrong. _

"_You're not in trouble, Isabella, but I wish to speak with your mother. Go on, child, I'll send for you when we're finished." Suddenly my father looked old. His shoulders were slumped in defeat. I couldn't imagine what could have happened in such a short span of time to make him look so sad._

"_Yes, Daddy, I'll go write Jasper and Alice." I gathered my skirts and made my way up the winding staircase to my room on the second floor. I slammed my door so they would hear it, but then opened it a crack so that I might hear the conversation from the parlor below._

_I heard them speaking, barely above a whisper. I could tell Mother was angry, but I'd never heard her talk back to Daddy before. I was shocked to hear her raise her voice to him. "We don't have to make a decision now, Charles. She's so young!"_

_Daddy sounded so sad, "Renee, he's a good man, and well off. I'd never have to worry about him providing for our little girl."_

"_There are other _good_ men in Lynchburg. He's so _old_. No, I won't hear of it." In my head, I could see my mother standing tall, with that determined look on her face that she wore when she wouldn't back down._

"_Is that what you're worried about, Renee? He's not _that old_. I'd dare say he's in his late twenties. He's from a very prominent family. We should feel honored that he's taken a fancy in our little girl." Yet, my father didn't sound convinced. _

_"It sounded to me like you were more interested in what Mr. Newton can do for you, Charles._"

_What did she mean? What could _he_ do for _Daddy_? I heard them talking about business, but Daddy had told me more than once that his business was none of my concern. He was never mean to me, but Daddy was strict and he commanded respect. I'd never want to get caught listening to a conversation that wasn't meant for my ears._

_I was terrified. What if Mr. Newton convinced my father to let us get married? I shuddered at the thought of it. My entire life it was emphasized that good girls learned proper homemaking skills and social etiquette. My mother's primary goal was to groom me for my life as a wife and mother. At an early age, Mother taught me to speak French. I learned to play the harp. Mother chided me because I refused to sing. _

_At fourteen, I was learning the skills I would need to run a smooth household so my future husband could concentrate on his job and return to a comfortable home filled with loving, respectful children. _

_I was raised in preparation to marry, but at my age, I didn't even want to think about everything that would be expected of me as a wife._

_Fearful of the conversation in the parlor and what it would entail for me, I drifted off into a daydream… _

_Mother and I had attended a tea at Emily Young's home a few weeks before and Mrs. Young encouraged mother to bring Daddy and I to the social she was organizing at the church. I really didn't want to go; I was at the age where Mother was constantly pointing out 'nice looking young men' telling me it was time for me to start thinking about finding a husband. She told horror stories about the Loman sisters who were all three spinsters. They were cousins of Mother's, living all alone in their long-deceased parent's plantation home in Charlottesville. _

_Mother insisted that I attend the ice cream social at church with her and Daddy. Emily was a few years older than I. Mrs. Young gushed about the young suitor who had asked for Emily's hand in marriage. Dr. Young had taken a shine to the boy, and readily agreed. Mrs. Young talked non-stop about the wedding plans she was already making. A gown from New York City… the finest pastries from Richmond. She went on and on about the trousseau that was being made by the most skilled seamstress in Lynchburg. By the time we went home, I was feeling sick to my stomach. It seemed all I heard about from the mothers of my friends, and, even worse, from the lips of my own mother was marriage, courtships, trousseaus, dowries, husbands! I stomped to my room, that afternoon, feigning a headache. _

_I knew attending the ice cream social would end in disaster. _

I felt terrible for this woman-child who apparently ended up being forced into an arranged marriage set-up. I set the journal down and rubbed my eyes. The writing was old and faded Trying to decipher it made my eyes water and my head hurt. I set the journal down and flipped through the envelopes.

I rummaged through them until I found one that was dated in the July of 1856.

_Dear Alice,_

_I wish you were here. I have no one to talk to. Mother and Daddy keep talking about Mr. Newton like he's some kind of God. They don't do it in front of me, and I know Daddy would whip me if he caught me eavesdropping, but I can't help myself. _

_What am I going to do?_

_I don't want to marry Mr. Newton. He's so old Alice. I swear he's thirty. He isn't unattractive, in fact he's rather nice looking, but he's nigh old enough to be my daddy. When I think of the things that would be expected of me as his wife, I shudder. I'd rather run away than marry him. I swear I will._

_I don't want Mother and Daddy to choose my husband. Hardly anyone does that anymore, Alice! _

_What can I do? I can't tell Mother and Daddy, they would be so disappointed in me. Daddy expects me to trust that he knows what's best for me. I know he loves me and I'm still his little girl, but something in the pit of my stomach tells me I should be scared. I am. I wish Jasper were here to talk to Daddy about all of this._

_Please, Alice, what can I do?_

_Your loving sister,_

_Isabella_

Right behind the letter _from_ Isabella, I found one addressed _to_ Isabella Whitlock. I smiled when I recognized the penmanship. I'd only read one of her letters, and already I knew that it was from Alice.

It was also dated July, 1856.

_Dearest Izzy, _

_I got your letter. Mr. Newton sounds like a gentleman. I know he's older, but even you said he's a nice looking man. Do you _want_ him to court you? Has he come calling? Perhaps your parents will turn him away._

_You shouldn't worry too much. There is plenty of time for you to find a suitor. Have you been to any dances?_

_Did Jasper ever tell you we met at a dance? My school sponsored a dance for the young men who attend West Point. Mother was on the dance committee for my school. After the dance, Jasper came to the house to see Daddy._

_When Jasper asked Daddy if he might court me, I thought Daddy would shoot him. He took him into the study where he keeps all his guns, so they could have a talk._

_It went alright. _

_The following Saturday night, Jasper came calling. I love Jasper so much, Bella. It's been almost two years now._

_Our wedding is in two weeks; then you and I truly will be sisters. I wish you could be here. It's just going to be a small wedding at the chapel where I was baptized as a baby. I wish someone could be here from Jasper's family, but we understand that your father can't leave the business right now. We'll celebrate when we come to see you._

_Jasper says we'll come to Virginia in September for your birthday. I can't wait!_

_Love, _

_Alice_

I could only imagine how alone Isabella felt. My stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of such a young girl worrying that her father would hand her off to a man so much older. I thought of my little Lily and my chest got tight. I could have never done something so selfish to my baby girl.

Realizing I needed a distraction before I found myself traveling that road again, I got my laptop out and typed in Sweet Briar Plantation. I was amazed at what I found.

Sweet Briar was a huge plantation. It spanned several thousand acres in area. I was shocked to learn that over a hundred individuals were enslaved there. My stomach rolled just thinking about a practice that occurred less than one hundred and fifty years ago. I felt sick thinking about Isabella and how she was probably treated just as poorly as those individuals her husband owned.

I read about the Fletcher family who owned Sweet Briar, and I didn't quite understand how this Michael Newton came to be in possession of such a place, but I swore to make it my mission to learn whatever I could.

My first mission though, was to ask my family how Sweetbriar, _our _Sweetbriar, came to have its name.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Everyone who reviews will get a teaser from the next chapter.

Next update- about two weeks.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of the original characters. Those belong to Stephenie Meyer. The story Sweetbriar, as well as any original plots or characterizations are copyright to me.**_

Susan, and the Debbies pre-read. Debbie S. beta'd. Thank you ladies!

Rachel is doing college things. Miss you Rachel.

Sweetbriar won't update again until after the New Year. A blessed Christmas and happy New Year to everyone who celebrates.

* * *

~Sweetbriar~

Chapter Eight

I closed everything up and put it all away again.

I really needed to find an air freshener or something; my room smelled like the inn and I'm not sure how I'd explain it. My mother would never believe the smell was just from the dirty clothing that lay in my hamper.

I opened the windows in my room, thinking it would help and I went in search of food.

I rummaged through the freezer and came across some of the meals that Esme had dropped off for Mom and I, back when I was still acting like one of the walking dead.

Several containers were grouped together, with corresponding numbers on top. I pulled out several that 'matched' and upon further inspection, had what appeared to be a chicken dinner with stuffing and some sort of apple dessert, Apple crisp perhaps. I put the aluminum trays into the oven following the instructions regarding temperature and time. Esme really had gone out of her way to ensure we had whatever we needed for a nice meal.

Rummaging under the sink, I found a bag of potatoes and set them on the counter. It was 3pm, and according to the instructions on the foil, I had about two hours until dinner would be done. Certainly there would be enough for all of us, since I knew Emmett was home with Katie today.

Leaving the kitchen, I noticed a thin film of dust coating the end table, as well as the coffee table. I went to the hall closet and gathered the things I'd need to vacuum and

dust, it was the least I could do to help. My mom had taken care of all this while I was out of commission. I decided it was way past time for me to step up the plate and do my share.

The smells of dust spray and floor cleaner just might cover up some of the musty smell that had escaped from my room, too.

I set about to straighten up, and before long, things were back to their pristine

appearance. I was right about the smell, too. The cool breeze blowing through the open windows helped to dissipate the musty smell and soon everything smelled sparkling fresh and clean.

At 4pm, I began peeling potatoes, and had them on the stove at a gentle boil by 4:30.

I called Mom's cell.

"Edward."

"Mom. How are you enjoying your afternoon? Find any good antiques?"

"Yeah, we were able to get a few kerosene lamps that have been converted to electric. I was able to get one for each of the guest rooms. We found an old oak bedroom suit, but you will have to help Emmett re-finish it. Someone painted it. It's got lots of potential."

"Wow, sounds like it was a productive day. You guys haven't eaten have you?" I should have asked that before I started dinner.

"We had sandwiches around 11, but that was all. What did you have in mind? Did you want us to pick something up?"

"No, I threw in one of the meals Esme made a while back and I peeled some potatoes. Dinner should be ready a little after five. There should be enough for everyone."

"Really? You started dinner for us? Thanks!" She seemed surprised that I took the initiative. I guess that was surprising based on my behavior since I'd come here.

I did some cleaning and straightened things up a little, too. You do so much; I decided I should take a turn."

"Thank you, Edward. We'll be home soon." She truly sounded pleased that I had done some things around here. I'd have to be a little more involved with where I lived. This was my home, and one day soon, I'd be responsible for cooking and cleaning here on my own anyway.

"You're welcome Mom, I love you."

"I love you too, son."

After we hung up, I set the table and put on a pot of coffee. I heard the cars in the driveway as I was pulling everything out of the oven. The potatoes had been mashed, so I set them in the microwave to stay warm. Everything looked and smelled wonderful. My stomach was growling, loudly, by the time they all got inside.

Everyone was chattering about the day's spoils. Mom and Esme seemed to be very excited; Carlisle was his usual reserved self. He grabbed a cup of coffee before he came over and leaned on the counter.

"Smells good, what did you make?"

I laughed. "I didn't _make_ anything except potatoes. Aunt Esme made it, a while back, I suppose. It was in the freezer. And you're right, it does smell delicious."

"I still don't know what's under the foil, Edward."

"Oh, sorry, I think it's either turkey or chicken, mixed into a big tray of stuffing."

"Sounds good, what's in the other container?"

"I believe its apple crisp. There's some vanilla ice cream up in the fridge I thought we could have with it. Here, watch out, I need to get a vegetable out and throw it in the microwave."

I set about opening a can of green beans and seasoning them with a couple pieces of bacon before I threw them into the microwave. I had no shame; at least we were eating a vegetable. I set the table and dished the poultry/stuffing dish into a large serving bowl I found above the stove. I could never understand why my mother insisted on putting the heaviest, most clumsy dishes in the top cupboards making them dangerous for her to get down. I swear one day she'd give herself a concussion trying to get something down. After I pulled the beans out, I nuked a jar of chicken gravy that I'd found near the can of beans.

The table was set and they were still milling around. I was ready to explode, I had questions that needed to be answered, and while I didn't want to divulge my secret, I knew I could use today's antique hunting spree as a way of bringing the history of the inn into the conversation without raising speculation.

Everyone gathered around and Carlisle asked a blessing over our meal. After a round of Amen's, the conversation quickly turned to today's adventure. Esme and Mom launched into a discussion about lamps made from Fenton glass for several of the guest rooms. A pair of antique Coleman kerosene lamps, with hunter green shades, was going in the dining room to grace the antique sideboard.

Mom looked at me. "I don't know if you remember, there's a Steinway square grand piano under wraps. I got antique lanterns for the great room and an antique mantel clock too."

"What does the piano have to do with a lantern?"

"I bought matching lanterns for on the fireplace mantel. They're called Coolidge drapery lamps. They got their name because they were pictured on the desk when Calvin Coolidge was inaugurated. The drapery reference has to do with the style of the lamps, the glasswork looks like its draped. I found a smaller one for on top of the piano. That's all."

"Wow, I get an education on antiques or architecture every time I'm around you girls. But you do realize that Calvin Coolidge was inaugurated after the turn of the century, right?"

Mom smiled, "Yes, we know that, but they are beautiful antiques, and just because the house has a civil war era history behind it, any antique will look splendid and have a place here."

Carlisle laughed and said to me, "They'll make an interior designer or a historian out of you yet."

"Actually, I was hoping they'd share more information about the inn with me. I know it has history. Being so involved in her transformation has me curious about her past. I was thinking it would be really neat to be able to share historical information about it in our advertising, or on a website. Is it part of the historic register in Albany? That shit brings visitors, you know."

They all sat around gaping at me with their jaws hanging open. "What? Don't look at me like you're shocked, I am an educated man, you know."

Carlisle guffawed, as Esme and Mom still looked like I was insane.

Esme spoke first. "Well, the inn was owned by the Brandons prior to the civil war. He was a doctor; I know during the war Dr. Brandon brought convalescing soldiers here after they had been stabilized at some of the other New York hospitals- Hart Island and David's Island hospitals and State Hospital in Connecticut all cared for soldiers as overflow hospitals, taking on the less critical cases during the height of the civil war."

"Did it remain a hospital after the war? How long did the Brandon's own it?"

"No, Dr. Brandon died at some point during the war from an illness he had contracted from one of the soldiers. According to legend, Mrs. Brandon died of a broken heart some weeks later. Their daughter Alice and her husband Jasper Whitlock lived out their days here. They only had the one child."

"Do you know how the inn got its name? I looked Sweetbriar up online, and I was taken to a website for a college just outside Lynchburg, Virginia. Apparently Sweet Briar plantation was a large slave plantation before the Civil War. After 1900 the property was donated to be used for a girl's college. The school kept the name Sweet Briar."

Esme looked gob-smacked. "Wow, if I'd known you'd taken such an interest in the inn, we'd have talked a long time ago. There's a historian at the local library who knows a lot about the inn. She's quite knowledgeable; you should stop by some afternoon and talk to her."

I didn't know if that would be necessary, perhaps I'd learn enough from Isabella's writing that I wouldn't have to ask around and raise suspicion. "Maybe I will.

"So what happened after the Whitlocks were gone? Who ended up with the inn, their child?"

Esme answered, "I believe the Whitlocks lived here until the late 1800s. Their daughter and her husband lost the house during the great depression. Her name was Gabby; she would have been in her late sixties or early seventies. The man who bought it when it was in foreclosure in the twenties gave it to his son. The son was no business man, and your mother stole it out from under him."

I was lost in thought and heard someone talking, but my mind was on the Whitlocks, and on Gabby. Gabriella Rose Whitlock. Just hours ago, I had her picture in my hand. Hearing some of this, hearing their names and understanding how they came to be here. It seemed very surreal to me.

"Does that help? That's just my guess; I'd definitely ask the girl at the library. She's the town historian."

"I'm sorry. What?"

My mom spoke up. "Esme was saying that perhaps the inn got the name Sweetbriar because the Whitlocks- Mr. Whitlock and later, his sister, came here from Lynchburg, Virginia before the war. Maybe Sweet Briar was their beloved home or something and they came here, naming Sweetbriar to honor its memory. She suggested you contact the town historian."

I know that the inn wasn't named to honor it because it was missed; I suspected the place was nothing short of a nightmare for Isabella. I was determined to learn everything I could from her writings before I pulled in anyone from town. Suddenly I felt fiercely protective of Isabella and the treasures she had left behind for me. I found them, they were mine.

Carlisle cleared his throat. "Edward, would you mind helping me empty the truck? I have that bedroom suit in the back of it, and the club cab is full of stuff too. I could use a hand if you don't mind."

Mom came over and gave me a hug. "Thanks for everything you did today, cleaning our home and making dinner. I'm tired and it's a relief to only have clean up from dinner to take care of."

"Leave it, I'll wash dishes when I get back from the inn." I turned to see the back of Carlisle's jacket heading out the door. We pulled the truck up behind the inn. Carlisle stepped inside one of the out buildings and turned on the lights. "This bedroom suit will be fine in here. It'll have to be stripped of its paint and then sanded and varnished, but it's oak, so it should clean up fairly well. I don't think the other shed has electricity."

I noticed the hand carved embellishments on the head board and foot board of the bed as well as the mirror of the dresser and the back of the matching rocking chair. "This is a really fine set. Did you get it for a good price?"

"It was a hundred and fifty dollars. They wanted two hundred, but the old antique co-op is closing and your mother and her sister really worked the guy over to make a deal. When he realized it was coming to the inn, he worked with them. They walked off with a box of antique linens, homespun dresser scarves and things. Nice stuff. Your aunt Esme could charm the stripes off a tiger, you know."

I responded to Carlisle, "Oh, I _know_ how persuasive she can be. I'm working here every day, rather than wallowing in self pity, aren't I?"

He laughed and nodded. "You are." Even though we both knew it was his threat to lock me away that had gotten me out of my slump.

We got everything moved. The boxes packed full of old lamps, and the big box of linens went inside the inn where they could be locked up. "All of the electrical conversions are old. The cords are made from woven fiber. We'll need to find an electrician to rewire them, it shouldn't be expensive, and perhaps one of the Amish carpenters could do it. The way that inspector treats your mother; I don't want her to see them until they've been gone over. Okay?"

"Yes, I understand. I'll speak with Emmett tomorrow."

"I suspect _Sunday antique hunting_ will go on each weekend since the workers aren't here. If you ever want to go, just let me know, I'll gladly stay home."

"Hmm, stay here in my warm bed on the only morning I don't get harassed at 6am, _or_ get out of bed just as early and run all over creation with my mother and my aunt while they shop? That's a no brainer, Carlisle. _No_, in case you were wondering, it was pleasant here this morning. I rather enjoyed the solitude. But thanks for offering," I said to Carlisle, while laughing loudly at the thought.

We'd carried the last of the boxes inside. I noticed the piano was uncovered for a change. _What a pleasant surprise._ I'd never actually _seen_ it before. "This is beautiful." I ran my fingers over the keys. "How old is it?"

Carlisle touched it as well. "You could ask Esme, but I believe it's an 1861. It's a Steinway. This model is a square grand, but you should know that it needs a little work. It's a very beautiful instrument." Suddenly he turned to me, "Do you still play?"

"I haven't played since high school. I don't know if I could do it. Dad always encouraged me, and after he was gone, I just couldn't. Then I went off to the service and Mom left. The old piano was gone. I knew there was one here, but this is the first I've seen it uncovered and open like this. It's exquisite."

"Mmhmm it is. A technician from the piano shop in Albany come by and checked it over. The sounding board is cracked and there are a few dropped keys and of course, it will need to be tuned. This piano is made of made of Brazilian rosewood, as are most square grand pianos. The finish just needs a little work to bring to back to its original exquisite condition. Originally your Mom had no idea exactly what this was when she came here. But, Esme found The Antique Piano Shop online, who helped us identify this piano. She sent them photos, via email and they were able to provide information on its history."

"Will it be expensive to repair it?" I'd gladly pay to have the work done. I knew it was an investment in the inn I wouldn't mind making. There was a small possibility that I'd one day take pleasure in the investment.

"It's a little more than your mom had hoped, I suspect, but Esme and I agree that it needs to be restored before the inn re-opens. I refuse to let the cost deter Liz from having it fixed. The repairs are actually an investment because once the piece is restored the value averages around $30,000.00."

"Please, let me know what the cost is. Just make the arrangements to have it repaired. I'd like to pay for this. I really don't spend a lot of my pay and they deposit a check every week. The only thing I pay for is the mortgage back in Chicago and just some groceries or whatever here. Mom won't take my money."

"Speaking of which, what are you going to do about the house, _your house_? Have you decided?"

My stomach rolled and my heart rate picked up just thinking about it. "No, as long as I have an income and I can make the mortgage, it's not an issue. Eventually I have to put it on the market, but I don't think I can go back there. I'm just really beginning to feel like my old self. I'm not ready to re-visit that right now."

Carlisle's faced was awash with sadness. "I understand son. We'll figure it out. As a family, we'll figure it out."

I was ready to change the subject. I wanted to go back and do a little research on my computer about the area. "Is that everything? I've got a few things to take care of tonight. I don't want to be up too late."

"No you don't, Emmett will drag you out of bed if you're not over at the inn by the time breakfast hits the table."

We headed back and everyone said their goodbyes. The girls had cleaned up while we were gone.

I sat down with Mom over a cup of coffee. "You got some nice things today. Carlisle said you and Esme made some great deals with the owner of the co-op. You must be excited to see it all finally coming together like this."

"Oh, you have no idea. I feel bad that Esme keeps sinking money into the place, but we've been keeping record of what's been spent, I want to repay her so we're equal partners."

"You know it's not an issue with her."

"I know it's not, but I want to, and I will."

"Well, I'm glad you're getting the place up and running. I know it was always a dream of yours, and well, after Dad... I know you came here to heal."

"It was a good distraction. I love this old place, there's so much history, but I know it's full of secrets. You can't have an old place like this without them. I've been trying to learn little things for years. It pleases me you've taken such an interest."

"It's a pretty cool old place. She's growing on me."

"I've always loved living here. It's peaceful; the patrons are always interesting for the most part. I'm hoping to open up the dining room as a restaurant after the remodel is complete. Even if I were filled to capacity, I'd only ever fill half the seats. Esme wants to cook with me; I think we'd be able to recover much of the loan in a short amount of time this way."

"That sounds like a great idea, just don't take on too much. If you need help, we'll hire a few people. Whatever you need, Mom. I intend to be here for a while. Just let me know what is necessary. I was away too long, and I feel sorry we drifted apart. I intend to be a better son to you. You've always been here for me when I needed you."

Before I finished, I was wrapped in her arms and she held me and rubbed my back, telling me how she understood and she was always proud of me. She never felt that I had deserted her. We ended up talking late into the night and I _almost_ spilled my guts about my little treasure, but again, I decided not to disclose that information yet. One day I would, but I felt like Isabella was something special that I could call my own. Mom and I did, however, talk about Tanya and how much we'd both miss her. There were tears and laughter. I was surprised that I could revisit memories and actually laugh now. Normally when I thought about Tanya and everything I'd lost that day, my heart squeezed so tightly I wondered if I'd pass out. It was getting easier to talk about her. I still had the nightmares, but they weren't the night terrors I experienced the first few weeks I'd been here. Thank God I didn't revisit it every night.

I felt so much better after we talked, I felt like I'd gotten a huge weight off my chest. My mom and I were always close as I was growing up, Dad was often working a case and we spent many evenings just like this, sitting around with a pot of coffee, conversing about anything or nothing. Sometimes we just sat in silence at the dining room table.

"Well, Edward, if I don't get to bed, breakfast won't get made. If there's no breakfast for Emmett and Katie before school starts, I'll be in trouble."

Normally I got to the inn just about the time Emmett was heading off to the school to drop off the kid.

"She really has a special place in your heart, doesn't she?"

"Hon, she hasn't had a mother for a long time. Little girls need a mother. While I'll never fill her mom's shoes, I want her to know she always has someone to turn to. She's a great kid. You should get to know her."

Mom knew my first meeting with Katie hadn't gone smoothly. We ran into one another, but I tried to keep a safe distance.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I keep hearing how _great_ she is. The kid is a little dictator."

My mom just laughed and shook her head. "Goodnight, son, I've got to go to sleep. I love you, see you in the morning."

"I love you too, Ma. Sweet dreams."

She just smiled and patted my shoulder as she passed my chair. She knew better than to talk to me about my dreams.

I cleaned up the kitchen quickly and brewed up another pot of coffee. There wasn't much to take care of, a few coffee cups to throw in the dishwasher. Not enough to run it tonight since the girls washed and dried everything by hand.

I pulled my carafe down and threw in a healthy shot of coffee and creamer. While it was brewing, I went in and showered and put on some sweats. Might as well be comfy. I looked down at the Chicago PD emblem silk-screened on my shirt. I dreaded making the phone call that I knew was inevitable. They'd all be hurt and angered, well, my true friends would be. I'm sure others still thought I killed Tanya.

I had been recused of Tanya's case almost immediately. I had tried a few times to go into the department's server to try and get information, but my password and log-in information no longer worked. Marcus had been keeping Carlisle abreast of any developments, but they hadn't found much and the case was growing colder each day. My biggest fear, for my own sanity at least, was that they would find the person who did it and I'd have to face that person in court. I knew that right now, even though I was feeling fairly stable, that I was walking along a precipice and it wouldn't take much for me to lose my footing and fall over the side.

I wasn't really afraid of someone coming here to find me, but every once in a while, I thought about my family. They were all here; they were all I had left. I couldn't lose one of them the way I'd lost my wife and my baby. I don't think I could ever endure something like that again. I really should call the chief, I suppose.

The coffee machine had long stopped gurgling and here I stood lost in thought. I filled up my carafe, and grabbed my mug from the table. Tonight would be an easy night. I wasn't going to drag everything out, just my laptop for some research about the good people of Lynchburg. I'd much prefer to be thinking about them than my own personal quagmire.

Upon further investigation, I learned that the Newton family had resided twelve miles outside of Lynchburg, on a property bordering Sweet Briar plantation.

In 1840, Michael Newton Sr., launched his business in metals, the Newton Steel empire. The Newtons were a very affluent family. Mrs. Newton was sister to Elijah Fletcher. In 1846, the Newtons were killed in some sort of accident. There was little information about their demise. However, I learned they left behind sixteen year old Michael Jr.

_So he was twenty-six when he met fourteen year old Izzy. _

_Perv. _

_In my world that constituted pedophilia._

_I loved it when we brought down creeps like that._

Michael was taken in by his Uncle Elijah and Aunt Marie. On a Sweet Briar website, I learned that the Fletcher children were all older than Michael, with the youngest- Indiana, or Indie as they called her, being just two years his senior. With the Fletcher children being for the most part grown, Elijah took Michael under his wing. Since Michael was still a young man, Elijah and Marie set him up in another home that existed on the spacious plantation. A number of his parent's slaves came with him to reside on the small parcel of property and care for his needs.

Elijah had formally retired in 1840 and had made Sweet Briar Plantation his permanent residence, so he had plenty of time on his hands to guide the young entrepreneur when he came to reside with them in 1846. Michael's aunt, Maria Fletcher, died in 1853 at the age of sixty-one.

When the state refused to help fund the construction of a railway line through Lynchburg, the city decided to incorporate the railroad in 1848. Elijah encouraged Michael to become involved and Newton Steel was one of the largest contributors to the newly founded Lynchburg and Tennessee Railroad Corporation. I realized the investment would have benefited him two-fold. He would have no doubt provided metals to build the railroad, making his business grow and after its completion, he'd have a way to more efficiently transport his goods.

This was some thirteen years before the Civil War broke out. During the 1850s the line ran from Lynchburg westward to what is now Roanoke and onward to Bristol, Virginia. In total the line covered a distance of over two hundred miles and was completed in 1856.

Elijah died in just five years after his wife in 1858. Elijah's oldest daughter Indie inherited the plantation, but Michael continued to live on the property for a number of years. In August, 1861 just weeks after the battle of Bull Run, near Manassas, Michael and Isabella were married.

The confederate soldiers relied heavily on the V & T railroad to transport supplies and soldiers. The union army continued to destroy the line every time the confederates repaired it. After the war, it was repaired and put back into use.

Michael's cousin, Indie Fletcher inherited Sweet Briar Plantation farm, although Michael resided there for a number of years until his disappearance in 1867. Years later, Indie Fletcher Williams founded Sweet Briar Institute, a college for girls with a huge monetary donation and 8000 acres of property, including the Sweetbriar Plantation, in her daughter Daisy's memory.

I caught myself drifting off.

_If I just close my eyes for a few minutes, I'll be ok._

I awoke to the sun coming up and the aroma of coffee coming from the kitchen. I'm not sure when I passed out, but my computer had gone into hibernation. At least I hadn't fallen asleep with Isabella's things lying around. Emmett was a bruiser, and even if my door was locked, I could see him having no qualms about busting it down to drag me out of bed.

I saved the information I'd compiled and powered everything down. Today was a new day, and I knew that I had something to look forward to at the day's end.

My mind was already being assaulted with the information I'd uncovered. It was going to be a very long day.

* * *

In case you haven't seen my profile of late- Sweetbriar has a blogspot of its own. The link is in my profile. Teasers, photos, etc can be found there.

Thanks for reading. Reviewers get a teaser.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended. Sweetbriar, and any original plots or characters belong to me.**_

A/N: I apologize for the delay. No excuse, just RL.

Debbie and Susan pre-read. Rachel beta'd. Ladies thank you!

* * *

**~Sweetbriar~**

**_Chapter nine_**

I made my way down to the inn, the unmistakable boom of Emmett's voice reverberating off the kitchen walls. He was sitting at the end of the table stuffing his face, while Katie picked at a pancake and a small link of sausage.

"What's the matter, kiddo?" My mom crooned. "Don't you like your breakfast?"

She stared at the plate in front of her. "I'm not really hungry." She continued to push her food around.

Mom immediately put her hand to the little girl's forehead. "What's wrong, don't you feel well? You _always_ eat my pancakes."

"I feel fine. Daddy and I already _had_ breakfast." And then she whispered, "I think he's using me as a cover so he can have your pancakes." I had to stifle a laugh. Even the kid could see through him.

"You _already_ ate?" My mom almost looked hurt. "But what did you _have_?" I could see the wheels turning. It was far too early for Emmett to have fed her anything nutritious.

She answered matter-of-factly. "We had confetti."

"_Confetti?_"

_What in the world?_

My mother looked horrified.

"Yes, confetti, you know... its… well... I don't know how to say it right."

"I'm waiting- you take your time to try and explain, while I decide if I'm gonna string your daddy up." I swear, I was waiting for her to begin tapping her foot. I knew that look well— Mom was pissed.

"Well... ," She looked to Emmett for an explanation, but he was oblivious to the conversation. "When the boxes of cereal start to get low, we have this big plastic cereal container." She gestured with her hands the size and shape of said container.

"Okay... "

"Um… we put the cereal in the big box. And then when the next one gets low, we mix it in. You know, anything you have in the cupboard, but I 'specially like the ones with the chocolate Dracula, and the ones with the crunch berries, ooh and "G_otta have my Pops_..." and... ummm... I don't know what _you _call them… earwax?"

"_Earwax_?" My mother was screaming now. Emmett was still ignoring everything around him. "Emmett! You fed this child _earwax_? Do you care to explain?"

He looked up from his plate and answered nonchalantly. "When we were kids, my little brother used to say that sugar coated puffed wheat tasted like earwax. After a while we all began calling it that."

"So this confetti, Katie?" I was having trouble curbing my curiosity. Emmett's parenting skills were something that intrigued me anyway; this was just icing on the cake.

I had trouble reconciling the fact that he had been parenting singly for some time and the child was not only still alive, but she seemed to be of above average intelligence.

"Well, we put all this stuff in the big box and then we shake it up."

"I think Lucky Charms are my favorite, do you put them in there too?"

_"Oh, no! _Never_._"

"Never? Don't you like them?"

"Yes, they're my favorite, Daddy's too. But Daddy says they're their own food group. You can't ever, _ever_ mix them into the confetti."

I was laughing so hard I really couldn't answer her. She continued to jabber, oblivious to my fit of laughter.

"Sometimes when we run out of regular milk, we have them with chocolate milk. That's what we had this morning. It's the best!" She rubbed her tummy and licked her lips simultaneously. I was laughing with the kid and didn't notice my mom had moved away from us until I heard Emmett yell.

"Geeze, Liz! Take it easy!" She had him by his ear and was dragging him out of the chair.

She smacked his chest several times for effect and he actually cowered. "Don't you _ever_ let me hear of you feeding this child something like _that_ unless she's had something nutritious first and your _concoction_ is nothing more than a snack. I don't care what you put into that body of yours, but Katie is a growing child and she needs food that will make her smart and get her through a long day at school. What's the matter with you!"

He had his arms up in front of him blocking is head and chest. "I promise, Ma, no more confetti unless it's after dinner. I get it, I _get it!_ Please stop beating on me. _You're_ setting a bad example." She gave him a slap, no doubt for principle.

Esme looked at the clock on the wall, "You're going to be late getting her to school if you don't get a move on."

Katie grabbed her back pack and patted my arm as she walked past me. "Bye, Eddie, I'll bring you a baggie of confetti tomorrow; it's scrumptious."

"Bye, kid. Have a great day."

She gave Mom a hug and headed off to school, grabbing Emmett by the arm on her way through the door.

"That kid is precocious." Carlisle laughed.

Esme nodded. "Yes, she is, but she keeps us all entertained."

I put my dishes in the sink and gave my mom a kiss on my way past her. "What are we tackling today?"

Esme pulled out a list. "Well, Carlisle and Emmett are going to work on crown molding in the great room; after they're done you can paint. The molding will be white like the ceiling; the rest of the room is a deep burgundy color. They are going to put some plaster appliqués on the ceiling as well, but you'll just paint over them as if they don't even exist."

"What should I do until then? Do you have errands, anything like that?"

"No, actually, I was thinking about having you begin stripping the bedroom suit."

I was hesitant to touch that. "Umm, I'm afraid of ruining it."

"You won't. It's easy. It just takes some oven cleaner and a little elbow grease."

"Are you out of your mind, Esme? Oven cleaner? You'll destroy it!"

"Nope, old family secret. You won't hurt a thing. Trust me."

"Family secret? From _what_ family? Is there some old furniture refurbisher in our family that I'm not aware of?"

"Well, from Emmett's family, but it works— I've seen it done. Come on."

"You're trusting _Emmett_ with an antique bedroom suit? Esme... " I knew I was whining, but seriously... come on!

She dragged me out to the back of her car to where a case of oven cleaner sat. "Just use what you need and put the rest in the basement. I'm sure there will be other things."

Esme and I walked out to the shed and donned rubber gloves;she instructed me in the fine art of paint removal. I'd spray the over cleaner on in small sections, and working with a nylon pot scrubber and a nylon pancake turner, I'd work at the paint until it came off in layers. In an hour and a half, I'd removed all the paint from the outside of the dresser, and had removed the mirror from its frame. I took all the sticky goop off the frame and uprights for the mirror and I was ready to rinse.

I got the hose out and turned it on, letting the water gently run over the wood as I scrubbed lightly with the nylon scrubby. Sure enough, as I rinsed everything off the dresser, the debris washed away allowing the oak to shine through. I didn't want to get the wood too wet; Esme had said to use a minimal stream of water. As soon as I removed all the cleaner, I shut off the hose and began drying off the piece of furniture. There were some spots around the carvings where I had to use a small plastic tool to dig out the softened paint and cleaner, but in no time I had everything off.

I swelled with pride, standing back to look at my master piece. As I was setting everything off to the side away from the huge puddle of water, Esme came back in.

Her hand went to her mouth as she circled it, looking at it closely. "Wow. You did a great job, Edward. And to think you questioned the oven cleaner. Em has some other secrets up his sleeve for refurbishing old furniture, but this one had to be stripped of paint. You'd be surprised by the things he knows. You really should give him more credit."

I felt embarrassed that I'd again poked fun at the big guy, but _who_ uses oven cleaner to strip antique furniture? _I guess I do, now._ I snorted. I was beginning to realize that I'd come to rely on his suggestions and ideas... because they worked. I imagine he looked at me like some preppy city slicker without a lick of common sense. _He was right._

"I was just getting ready to start another piece. Or did you want me inside?"

"I think we should let this dresser dry out first. You don't want to have to lean the damp pieces against one another."

"Yeah, you're right. I guess I got a little carried away."

"You know it really means something to your mom that you've taken an interest in the place."

"It's been a welcome distraction. I never realized how much I've come to miss Mom. It's nice being here with her again."

When we got inside, Emmett rushed over to me. "Hey, Ed, I have a problem. I need your help." When the guy got all excited about something, he reminded me of Jethro Bodine.

"What's up, Emmett?"

"_Mizz Hale _is coming to visit and check up on our work. I really need to be here since she considers me the general contractor on the job."

"Okay, and this affects me... _how_?"

"She can't come until quarter to three. I need to be over at the school getting Katie right then. Would you mind goin' over and fetchin' her? I'd sure appreciate it." Yep, Jethro. I chuckled under my breath.

My stomach tightened into a knot. Making conversation with the kid was one thing; picking her up and being responsible for her was another thing altogether. "I can bring her back here, right?" Mom would feed her a snack, no doubt.

"I'd prefer she wasn't here when Hale is here. Katie's never been exposed to someone like that and I'd rather keep it that way."

What the fuck was I going to do with a six year old for an undetermined amount of time? Emmett must have sensed my discomfort. "Do you swim, Ed?"

Swim? _What?_ "Um, I swam in high school... on the swim team. There aren't any pools around here, though. Is there one in Albany?"

"_Pool?_ Whaddya need a _pool_ for? Just take 'er to the creek; it's out yonder." He hitched his thumb over his shoulder to point towards a wooded area.

"You want_ me_ to swim in a _creek_?" I could just imagine the microorganisms that lived in that water. Emmett nodded his head like it was perfectly normal to swim there. "Eww! Really?"

"Hey, your Ma swims there! She's the one who had the rope swing put up. The water's great! We've got a little beach and everything. Liz had a truck load of sand brought in. Maybe the rest of us could meet up with you. We could roast up a batch of weenies and marshmallows." He jumped up and down clapping like some overgrown kid while I shook my head in disbelief.

I hope the kid ate well at school, because weenies and marshmallows didn't sound like a balanced meal. At all.

"Alright, _alright_, I'll get her from school. Does she know how to get to this swimming hole?" I shuddered just saying the words. In the back of my mind, I heard dueling banjos. Emmett constantly ridiculed my inner city slicker. I couldn't help it. I _was_ a city slicker.

"Yes, Edward, she knows this property like the back of her hand. Didn't you ever have adventures when you were a kid? You're just too stuffy for your own good." He slapped me on the back, catching me off guard and nearly taking me off my feet. "I'll get a bag around for her with a towel and her suit, and I'll leave it on the back porch for you. If you don't mind, she can change in the back of your car." I jerked up to look at him; I'm sure I looked panic stricken. "Don't worry! She's self-sufficient like that."

He left me to stew over my cans of paint and rolls of trim tape while he and Carlisle moved on to another room. I looked around. The molding looked good. With the plaster appliqués they had placed in all of the corners the room had an antique air to it. I wasn't so sure about the cranberry walls, but my mother and Esme knew what they wanted.

I couldn't help touching the wall next to the fireplace. Once I realized what I had pulled out of the wall, I went back that evening and reached around inside just to be absolutely certain I hadn't missed anything else. There was nothing more and no one was the wiser. They accepted my story about just pulling a bunch of wadded papers and old clothing out of the space. It was properly insulated and patched with joint compound now.

After taping it all off, I began painting the down walls. The ceilings would wait until tomorrow. The adhesive for the appliqués needed time to dry.

After I painted the walls, Esme came in with a sponge and some grayish green paint and did some sort of pattern over my damp paint. When the room was done, it looked, surprisingly, like old wallpaper. Even without the ceiling being painted, I could suddenly visualize the room. All of the furnishings had dark green crushed velvet covering and beautiful walnut trim. I had asked why Esme wanted to keep the old beat up sofa, settee and chairs when we were gutting the rooms. They looked like junk to me. Esme pulled back the old upholstery and said "Just look at that frame, Edward! These are fine antiques, easily worth thousands for each piece."

I remember swallowing hard. "Really?"

"It will only cost us several hundred dollars each to have them reupholstered." A few weeks later she took me by the upholsterer's showroom. Leading me into a workshop in the back, she pointed to the sofa. I was in awe.

"That's just... amazing." I knew better than to doubt her. But now, I finally understood. Walking through the showroom and looking at the price tags of some of the pieces, I realized that some of the things I had scoffed at as junk, truly were priceless antiques.

I couldn't wait to see these rooms come together. My mother had a vision when she came here. It warmed my heart to know she would finally get to see it come to fruition. I stood there lost in the moment.

Esme startled me when she came up behind me. "Come on, let's get some lunch. They are almost done with the dining room. Will you help me paint in there?"

"Sure. I'd be happy to."

"We'll only get two walls done. Carlisle and Emmett had to patch some spots on the walls; they won't be dry enough to sand until later."

We had hoagies and then after a short break, Esme helped me get set up in the dining room. I was painting over the embossed wallpaper with a cream colored paint. It was easy to picture the old farm table stretched to accommodate a dozen or more guests. Esme had informed me that I would be learning how to weave cane seating for all of the old chairs after I stripped and varnished them. _I don't think so, Es._

I could picture Mom's sideboard and beautiful hutches in this room, filled with her pretty things. The dining room of the main portion of the inn would house the big table, and now there was a huge archway that allowed the dining room to expand into the old original building. A huge hand hewn beam acted as a header to support the weight of the second story. It was an old thing, from a local barn. The Amish workers delivered it one morning and after giving it a coat of finish, it was installed carefully. I held my breath when they pulled out all the two by fours that held the wall up while the header was being set, but when we pulled them out, the wall came to rest on the beam as if it was meant to be that way all along.

Mom wanted to look for smaller tables for more intimate seating in that area. There was an auction coming up at a local auction house. They had advertised nearly a dozen small Victorian dining room tables. Mom and Esme intended to snatch up every one of them they could. There was no rhyme or reason to what they wanted to buy, just a mish mash of antique tables. I knew the following Sunday would be another day spent searching for more furnishings for the inn.

Esme and I worked in harmony all day; the quiet interaction was peaceful compared to the day I worked with Emmett. I asked her little questions, and she'd give me more information on the inn or the furnishings. When I commented on the piano and the fact that I had decided to pay for the repairs, she turned so quickly I was afraid she'd fall. "I wanted to ask you about that. Well, in a roundabout way."

"What, the repairs? I told Carlisle I'd like to pay to have it gone over. It's a beautiful instrument and it's been in this house nearly a hundred and fifty years. I'd love to see it operational."

"That was what I wanted to discuss with you, Edward. We were waiting on repairs, because, let's face it, unless there is someone who is willing to play it, the money is better spent elsewhere."

I searched her face, for the telltale signs of the guilt provoking manipulation that I was certain I'd find there, dreading her attempts to coerce me into accepting the role of entertainer, but there was nothing but sincerity there.

I knew I was going to regret it, but this was for my family and I still owed them so much. "I'll pay for the repairs, and if you can give me some time to reacquaint myself with a piano, I suppose I'd be willing to play on the weekends for a few hours."

She gasped and pulled me into a huge embrace. "Oh, my gosh! Edward, that would be perfect. Even if you could just cover the brunch crowd on Sundays, and perhaps dinnertime on Friday or Saturday nights. Your mom will be ecstatic."

I groaned. _What had I done? _I knew it would please my mother, and honestly these were the only two women in my life. I had no social life. It could be fun. I shrugged. "I'm happy to help out. I appreciate everything all of you have done for me these past few months. Maybe I can return the gesture."

I looked at my watch and saw that it was after 2:30. I should be getting ready to pick up Katie and I still needed directions to the school. While Esme and I cleaned up, she explained how to get to Katie's school, and told me what lot to park in. If I drove mom's Volvo, she'd recognize it and I wouldn't even have to leave the car. _Sweet._

Like clockwork the bell rang at exactly 2:45. I watched a ton of kids come pouring out of the school, and finally I saw Kate come running out, her pigtails bobbing behind her. She looked all around, no doubt in search of Emmett's mammoth truck, but her face broke into a huge smile when she spotted the Volvo and she came running. The smile dropped when she saw me in the driver's seat. "Oh, hi," she said as she looked at the ground.

"Everything okay, Katie? You seem sad."

"I thought Mrs. Liz would be in the car."

"Your Daddy said I should bring my mom's car when I came to get you, so you'd recognize the car. You _did_ find me right away."

She hung her head. "I know." She seemed so sad. A surprise would cheer her up, don't all kids like surprises?

I was already in a pair of cut offs. I laid a few towels with the bag from Emmett, and Mom had snuck a few treats and drinks into the bag. It _might_ be fun, this outing. "How would you like to go to the swimming hole with me today? Do you think you can help me to find the way?"

The kid squealed so loudly that I nearly hit the car that was stopped in front of me. Slamming on the brakes, I could feel my face morphing into that of Detective Masen; I was prepared to lecture her on the perils of distracting someone as they operated a motor vehicle, but when I turned in my seat to reprimand her, she looked terrified. She shrunk down in her seat. "Sorry," She said in a tiny voice.

I melted.

I couldn't fathom how she constantly got under my skin. I _wanted _to be angry, but it just wasn't possible.

"You understand why I'm upset?" I was miffed, this kid never failed to amaze me.

"I distracted you. I'm sorry."

Well, hell. If she already knew what she had done wrong, there was no point in reprimanding her. I wasn't going to kick a dead horse. "It's okay; you just can't let out bloodcurdling squeals when someone is driving. We could both get hurt. Do you understand?"

She hung her head again and barely above a whisper, answered, "Yes."

"You're forgiven. This is supposed to be a fun afternoon."

I heard her gasp quietly. _Now what?_ I sighed. "What's wrong?"

"I don't have my swimsuit, Eddie. We can't go swimming."

"Yes,you can; your Dad packed it in that bag. It's right there on the seat with the towels."

"No, its not! What bag?" I could hear her rooting around in some of the junk on my mom's back seat. My mother's car constantly looked like she lived in it. It drove me crazy. One day my OCD tendencies would get the best of me and I'd break down and clean and organize it.

"SHIT!" _The bag... the one that still sat on my mother's porch._

I heard her take in a deep breath. _Don't say it, kid!_ I looked in the rearview mirror at her. She didn't say a word. _Good._

"Sorry, kid, I left your suit at the inn. We can't go back. Your dad has an appointment with the inspector, we'll just have to chuck rocks or something till the rest of them come. I can call and ask them to bring your suit."

I looked in the mirror again and my heart sunk. She was tearing up and I was in no way ready to deal with a distraught child. "Tell you what, we'll go get the bag, and we'll leave. You can just sit in the car, okay?"

She nodded her head, grinning. I made my way across town and at 3:10 I was turning into the driveway. I pulled in behind the house, parking next to the building where I'd been working on stripping the dresser earlier. I noticed that I had forgotten to turn off the faucet; water was spraying from around the nozzle. Sweetbriar was still on a well. I didn't want to run it dry. I'd just shut it off when I got to the porch.

The coast was clear. Maybe she already left. In any case, all I had to do was walk over and grab the bag, and make our escape. Emmett would never even know about my blunder. I wasn't going to shut the car off, but I looked back at Katie and realized I couldn't take a chance like that. _What if something happened?_

I got out of the car. I could see the bag of goodies and swimwear... _right there_... on the porch. It was within my grasp and we could get out of here. No one would be the wiser. Ms. Hale intimidated me a little. I'd been boisterous with her in the beginning, but the fact of the matter was that she was a scary chick. I didn't want to have to deal with her and an upset Emmett all in one afternoon.

I made my way over to the bag, hoping to make a quick escape. _What is it they say about the best laid plans? _With the bag in hand, I took both porch steps in one stride and made to cross the porch. Just as I turned, I heard it.

A giggle... and then another... _What the...?_

I looked in the direction of the noise, and there stood the little imp holding my garden hose. It was pointed in my direction and just as I went to yell, I was assaulted with an intense stream of ice cold water. I ran to turn off the spigot, but apparently not quick enough, for when I turned the knob I heard a scream and Emmett's booming "What the hell?"

Standing directly behind me was Em and the dreaded Ms. Hale. You could hear a pin drop. I knew I was doomed. I swallowed loudly and looked at Em.

"I forgot her suit." He glared at me.

"We were only stopping for a minute?" I wished I could shrink... because I felt about _that_ big.

"I asked her to remain in the car?" He shook his head no, and then looked pointedly at Ms. Hale. _We were sunk._

I looked up into Ms. Hale's face as she spit and sputtered. Her makeup was running, and she looked akin to a raccoon. Her perfectly coiffed hair was all askew and dripping wet, and her designer blouse was soaked- revealing more of Ms. Hale that I'd ever anticipated seeing. The look of sheer fury that crossed her face had me shrinking in my shoes.

She was going to shut us down permanently. I just knew it! It would be all my fault. I couldn't just do something simple like take the kid swimming. _No... I had to screw everything up_. My mother's dreams were going to be destroyed because I was a fuck up. I hung my head as I made my retreat to the car. No point in going swimming now. _Everything _was ruined.

It had all unfolded in a matter of seconds. Yet, when Katie began to wail the strangest thing happened... The ice queen began to melt. Without a second thought, she made a beeline for Katie. She bore the strangest expression on her face, one of wonder… of longing.

The sobbing child looked up and smiled. The ice queen smiled back. The tiniest voice I'd ever heard muttered, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, sweetheart, it was an accident." _What the hell?_

Katie shook her head. "No, it wasn't." I cringed. "I _meant_ to spray Eddie."

I think I heard Hale chuckle. _Huh?_

My mother and Esme came running to the back porch from somewhere inside. Esme's face was smudged with a smear of burgundy paint, and her hair was a mess. Mom was wearing an apron and I knew she had been making picnic food. Suddenly I could smell the fried chicken from here.

My mother gasped as she took in Ms. Hale's appearance. "Oh, NO! Miss Hale, I'm so sorry. Let me get you a towel." She ran into the laundry room and returned with several of the big fluffy towels she had just purchased for the guest rooms. I could tell my mom was horrified. I was crushed. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened, but we'll make this right."

The inspector looked at my mother with a sweet smile. "No blood, no foul."

Emmett and I exchanged a glance.

"Seriously, I'm okay. I guess my day is over; I can't go out looking like this." She looked down at her clothing as she shook the water off her hands and then tried to blow her hair out of her face. No, she certainly couldn't inspect in her current state.

Emmett wore an expression on his face that could only mean one thing. He was smitten with his adversary. I didn't know if it was the way she melted over his child, or if he was simply taken with the wet shirt that clung to all of her voluptuous curves. Ms. Hale was a fox. She just had a terrible disposition.

Esme cleared her throat. "Miss Hale, we appear to be about the same size. I'd be more than happy to give you something dry to change into. You must be uncomfortable like that." Emmett let out a snort that was not at all gentlemanly. Esme was no doubt more uncomfortable than the delectable Ms. Hale.

"Thank you, I'd appreciate that."

The three women went inside while Em and I stood in the yard with Katie.

Katie.

I turned to see her sitting, downtrodden, in the back of mom's car. He little feet hung out the door, and she swung them back and forth, running the toes of her Keds through the dirt. I elbowed Em. He needed to _do_ something. The poor kid had a bad afternoon. I had reprimanded her, I forgot her things, and now... this.

"Don't yell at her, she didn't mean any harm."

"Ed, if your mother loses this place because of us. I couldn't live with myself. This inn is her heart and soul."

"Hale didn't look too angry. She almost seemed amused with Katie."

"Yeah, I noticed, wonder what's up with that?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, maybe she has a soft spot for kids?"

"I was just getting ready to take her inside, but it looks like our inspection is over for today."

I could hear the women talking as they came out through the laundry room. "I'd love to, thanks Mrs. Masen."

"Please dear, call me Liz." _Dear?_ My mother was consorting with the enemy. What was going on?

And then, the reply that floored me even more. "Only if you agree to call me Rose." _What the hell?_

"Perhaps Mr. McCarty would be willing to walk through with me to complete the inspection. I'd hate to hold up your next phase of construction. I'll be away all next week; I have to go into Manhattan for training." Her voice was sugary. I was at a complete loss. Had a little cold water caused her transformation? Because if it had, I wish I'd known months ago.

Emmett perked up, and I swear I could see the hint of blush on his ears and cheeks. I _knew_ it. He had a thing for the inspector. That was probably one of the reasons he would get so infuriated with her. He liked her and all she ever did was find fault with his work. She liked to make him jump through hoops, it seemed. Never satisfied, that one. I couldn't understand why she constantly busted his balls. Was she attracted to him as well? Was this her way of compensating so no one would notice?

Esme stepped onto the porch, followed by Mom and then Ms. Hale. _Rose._ My jaw dropped. I wasn't a blonde man, but the inspector was beautiful. She looked like the girl next door, wearing a pair of Esme's jeans and a _Chicago_ tee shirt. Her hair, still wet, was pulled back into a ponytail. She must have washed her face; all traces of makeup were gone. Her porcelain skin was flawless. She was stunning.

Em coughed a few times and made his way over to the ladies. "Ms. Hale, I'd be more than happy to walk you through. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to continue working." He took her, ever so gently by her elbow, and led her inside.

My mom and aunt stood on the porch quietly chuckling. "Who knew?" Esme laughed.

My mom smiled. "I could tell he was sweet on her. All it took was that little girl and some cold water to break down her icy exterior. I don't know how _anyone_ could be upset with Katie." She gave me a pointed glare.

I put my hands up in surrender. "Hey, I'm making an effort here. I'm sorry I forgot the suit. It _was_ an honest mistake."

Esme smiled as she rubbed my shoulder. "Perhaps it was fate. Why don't you run along with Katie? She looks like she could use a friend" I nodded, I could do that much.

"We're bringing a picnic. As soon as Carlisle gets back and we finish up the food, we'll be down. Miss... _Rose_... is coming with us. It should be interesting."

I raised an eyebrow. She couldn't be serious. Inviting the enemy to dinner?

"Edward. Be nice. It doesn't hurt to extend an olive branch from time to time."

I growled and headed back to my little friend. I handed her the bag. "Why don't you run inside with this, and change in the restroom. I'll wait for you and then you can show me the way to this swimming hole." A huge smile broke across her face.

"Thanks, Eddie! I'll be right back."

Kids. I just shook my head and got into the car. She sure was resilient. One minute she was crying her eyes out, and like a switch had been flipped, she was all smiles as if all had been forgotten. I wish I could get over my issues so easily.

I buckled my seatbelt and started the car as Katie climbed into her seat. "All buckled up kiddo?" She smiled and nodded.

"Okay, lead the way."

I had seen the grass covered road that led through the woods behind the carriage house, but I didn't know it went anywhere specific. I just assumed it was an old path through the woods. As we drove along, I took in the sights. The area back here was more densely wooded, and it appeared that it had been lumbered recently. Tree tops were strewn here and there, indicating that some cutting had been done. They hadn't begun to break down and go back to the earth. Must have been in the past year or so.

I noticed a mother deer with a set of spotted twins. They must have been about six months old. I pointed as I slowed down. "Look, Katie."

"Little girl."

"Pardon, what?"

"That's her name. It's Little Girl… and her fawns. My dad talks to her sometimes. She'll come right over and look in your car. She's very friendly. Daddy hand feeds her apples and carrots in the evening sometimes."

_You can tell the identity of a wild deer?_ "Don't they all look alike? How do you know it's the same one?"

"See that tag in her ear? Her mommy got hit by a car, and the game com... comm... _I can't remember the word... _"She sighed a big sigh, and set her shoulders before starting again. "Game _people_ came here to take her away to a special farm, but Liz asked if she could keep her. She had to get permission from someone, but we kept her in the kitchen and fed her with a baby bottle."

Wow, I had no idea. My mom was jack of all trades. Somehow I could see her nurturing an orphaned fawn in much the same way she mothered Katie. Yea, it made sense.

"That's pretty cool."

Katie nodded as she watched the family of deer make their way into the forest.

I gave the car a little gas and proceeded slowly down the road. I could see the sunlight filtering down through the canopy of trees as I neared a clearing. I noticed a spot that looked like it had been cleared for parking. It would be a relaxing walk, but I could see why you'd drive if you had a bunch of picnic food. "You have to stop here and walk the rest of the way." Katie was practically bouncing in her seat.

I got out of the car and threw the straps to the bag over my shoulder. I knew mom kept blankets in the trunk, so I grabbed them. It would be nice to have something _clean_ to sit on. It wasn't like I was going to swim. Katie grabbed my hand and headed away from the clearing. I could see a path. It looked like a direct route. _Where was she taking me?_

"Wait, kid, don't we want to go this way?"

She kept tugging on me. I was getting irritated. "No, Eddie, we can't go that way, the _neddles_ are there! They bite! I'm _a-scared_ to go that way."

_What the heck is a neddle? _"Come on, I'll carry you. I can _see_ the water. There's nothing here that will get us!"

Katie started crying and came to an abrupt stop. "I don't... " hiccup "wanna" hiccup... "go that way. You can't make me."

Now I was getting irritated— sometimes this kid brought the worst out in me. I wasn't walking a mile out of my way to avoid some imaginary terror. It was probably something Emmett made up to keep her from running off.

I snatched her up and threw her over my shoulder. My shirt rode up under her little body as I strode through the dense greenery. Suddenly my stomach burned. I flinched, but kept moving. As I brushed up through the plants, my arms and legs began to have a burning sensation. I could see a beautiful oasis in front of me, but the beauty of the place was diminished by the pain. My entire body was on fire. Dropping everything, including Katie, onto the sandy beach, I jumped into the swimming hole. I was clawing at my skin, batting at an invisible attacker. Welts covered my torso, my arms, and my legs. I wanted to rip my hide off. Over the sounds of my splashing I could hear the kid laughing hysterically.

I strode out of the water, pulling my shirt off. I was covered in angry red welts. It looked like a million little imaginary bugs had feasted on me, but there had been nothing but plants. I didn't understand.

"Katie, what are the _neddles_?" I asked, putting emphasis on the word. I was none too happy right now. I needed some kind of relief and couldn't stop scratching. At this rate, I'd have my skin torn off in no time.

"Maybe you should call Carlisle." She said matter-of-factly. Yes, _Carlisle,_ why didn't _I_ think of that?

He answered on the first ring, and I was scratching and jumping around so hard to rid myself of invisible attackers, I was out of breath. "Edward?"

"Augh! I'm burning up. You've gotta help me." I was frantic; and the scratching only made it worse. On top of the welts, I was now covered in self-inflicted claw marks, too.

"What's wrong, son?" He seemed panicked. "Is Katie okay?"

"The kid's fine. She tried to warn me. What the _heck_ is a neddle?"

My uncle started laughing, loud and deep, with no regard for my pain and suffering. "Oh, _Edward! _Not_ neddles, _stinging _nettles. _She tried to warn you and you went through them _anyway_?"

"Oh my God, yes!" I was freaking out. I couldn't reach all the spots; they were everywhere. I felt like I was being attacked by some invisible terrorist. Now I understood the kid's panic attack.

"Stinging _nettles_ are a plant that causes an allergic reaction. _Don't scratch!_ I'll be right there!" _Hah, too late for that old man!_ Some of the spots were bleeding I was clawing at them so feverishly.

"Please hurry!" By the time he arrived, I was in tears. The kid was off playing in the sand. Every time she looked at me she'd laugh. Finally, after I threatened to take her through the nettles, she stopped. Not that I ever would. Thankfully, because she was up over my shoulder, she hadn't gotten hurt.

I heard the hum of Carlisle's car as he parked, and I nearly ran up the path to meet him, I was in so much discomfort. But then, I remembered… the path. We'd be doing _something _to get rid of the nettles. I had yet to even encounter this unseen enemy, but you better believe I was going to do some research.

I was freaking out as I waited for him to break through the clearing. _Where was he?_ I heard another car and several doors slam. Oh, great. Everyone would soon witness my agony. Just what I needed.

"Edward. Oh, son, you're a mess! Let me help you, come, sit down." I spun around to see him entering the clearing from the exact opposite of where I expected him to break through No wonder it took him so long.

He spread a towel out over the top of a huge log, and began pulling things out of a first aid kit. The thing that surprised me the most was one of those lint rollers that had the masking tape on them. What was _that_ for? He smirked. "You'll see in a minute. Stop scratching, they'll get infected!"

I was still juking around, scratching with both hands, and scratching my calves with my sneakers. There didn't seem to be any part of me that didn't itch.

"It's the histamine in the nettles. It's what makes you itch, here take this." He handed me a bottle of water and two little pink pills. Benedryl. "It'll help with the itch."

I took the pills and Carlisle told pulled the cover off the lint remover and brought it over to my side. Slowly he made one roll down across my torso, and then removed the tape to expose a fresh piece. I know I looked at him like he was insane. He just smiled. "It takes out the stingers. Next time, listen to Katie. She's a very intelligent child."

"But she constantly bosses me around." I whined. I felt like a ten year old.

"You _let_ her get to you. I remember you calling her a little dictator, but seriously, if you actually took the time to get to know her, she's a very bright kid. And she'll capture your heart. If… you let her in." It seemed like I was getting a psychology session along with my first aid.

He had hunkered down and gone over both of my legs. It was all I could do to stand still while he was working; although the Benedryl had take some of the itching away, it did nothing for the sting.

Carlisle held out one of the pieces of masking tape. "Hold this up and look at it."

When he held it so I could look across the tape from the side, it looked like hundreds of tiny hairs. "They're little needles... embedded in your skin. That's why I said don't scratch. You just break them off and make the reaction worse."

"I couldn't help myself."

"I know, son. Come here." He took a paper cup and shook a box of something I recognized from the kitchen into it, and then dumped about half a bottle of water into it. Using a tongue depressor, he stirred up the white paste. I cocked an eyebrow at him in question. "Baking soda. The nettles are acidic, this is alkali, and it'll help. Trust me."

I sat on the log while he dabbed all over my body with the wet cotton balls. I could feel my skin tightening as the paste dried. It was beginning to feel somewhat better.

I heard Emmett guffawing as he broke through the brush with Mom, my aunt and Miss Hale. _What was she doing here? I thought they were joking._

"Oh, Eddie! Didn't Katie tell you to stay away from those?"

I hated it when he called me that and he knew it. I could ignore it from the kid, but Emmett was a pain. "My name is _Edward, _you ass! And yes, she warned me. I didn't understand."

He continued to snicker, deep in quiet conversation with the inspector. She looked over at me and tried to cover up a smirk with her hand.

Carlisle smacked me on the shoulder. "There, all done. Keep that on for a while, and then you can get into the water and wash it off. Why don't you go lay on the beach for a while?"

I found a towel and tried to get comfortable as my family set up a small area for picnicking. Almost immediately Emmett was digging in. He walked over to Ms. Hale, offering her an overloaded plate and plastic utensils. There was no way Construction-site Barbie was ever going to put that all away. He went back and got himself a plate before sitting on the ground next to her folding chair. I couldn't hear the conversation, but she appeared to be as enraptured with him as he was with her. This was quite the turn of events.

I never heard my uncle until he cleared his throat softly. "Here, I brought you something to eat so you wouldn't have to walk around. I don't want all that baking soda falling off."

"Thanks." I sat up and took his offering. Everything looked and smelled incredible. The aroma took me back to days in Lincoln Park when we'd all go as a family and spend a lazy Sunday afternoon in the sun, eating and relaxing. I missed those days. It seemed like it had been forever since those carefree days.

"I never expected to see that, did you?" He nodded over towards Emmett and Rose.

"Never in a million years. It's almost like the water washed away the entire facade. She's like a different person."

"I think it was Katie. Your mother overheard her telling Esme that she has a child about the same age. Apparently the father took her for a weekend and never returned. No one knows their whereabouts."

I immediately seethed. So many cases like that came though our precinct. Domestic situations were more common than most of the crimes we dealt with. They were always ugly and painful, and the children were the ones who were the most affected by it.

"How long ago?"

"A few years, I'm not sure."

"So maybe Katie's and my little mishap was a blessing in disguise?"

"It very well could be. She approved everything. We passed the inspection, and she says she's not coming back for another one until we're ready to re-open."

I was floored. This woman had been the bane of my existence for months. "Wow." I didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah."

I began scratching my side. "Can I wash this off? I think I'm going home. I can't get comfortable, and I think I'd be more comfortable in my bed, compared to the hard ground. This place is captivating, but I'm miserable."

"Alright, Edward. Just follow the path out that direction; it comes right out to the parking area. You'll see. I hope you're soon feeling better. I'll check on you when I drop Liz off."

I went over to the water's edge and dove in at the deep spot where the tire swing hung out over the water. The cold water was shocking and I came up spitting and sputtering. I rubbed over my arms and legs getting all the soda off and got back out. The sun was already going down; soon it would be too cold to enjoy anything like this, and Indian summer would be gone.

I bid everyone goodbye and went back to my car.

Back at the carriage house, I showered and threw a towel around my waist. I considered putting on sweats, but opted for crashing nude. Clothing would only irritate my skin more. I saw the light on my cell phone blinking from the nightstand. Opening it, I recognized the Chicago area code, but I didn't know the number. I wasn't calling it back. No point revisiting that. I was finally feeling better.

I crawled into bed; the Benedryl had made me sleepy. Perhaps I'd actually sleep tonight; Carlisle told me the reaction should be gone by morning. I couldn't remember looking forward to anything with such anticipation.

I remember Carlisle coming in and talking to me, and handing me some more pills for the itch. Sometime in the night I awoke to a sound. My cell phone was ringing. Before I could answer it, it went to voicemail. I picked it up. It had been someone from my old precinct. They could wait till morning, Waking up was a bad thing. I became aware of my surroundings and the itching resumed. I was on fire! The tossing and turning made me want to claw off my skin!

I went to the toilet and got two more of those little pink pills. Just as slumber was taking me, my phone began ringing. I groaned as I reached for it. They weren't going to go away until I answered.

"Hello," I grumbled.

"Detective Masen?"

"This is he. Who is this?"

"Detective Masen, this is Jessica Stanley from the Chicago Tribune. Detective Masen, did you burn your home down to hide evidence from your wife's murder? Did _you_ murder your wife, detective? It's no coincidence that you went into hiding after she died. Is it Detective Masen?"

I could hear her screeching as the words all jumbled together. I had vowed never to go back, but my house was _gone_? Someone burned it?

I let my phone slip through my hands as I picked up the landline and called the number I knew by heart. My commander picked up on the first ring. "Chicago PD, Banner speaking."

"Sir, it's Masen. I just received an unnerving phone call." I looked down and realized my cell was still on. I reached down quickly and closed it.

"Masen, I'm sorry to have to do this to you. Son, I need you in Chicago. Immediately, if not sooner."

The room spun as I tried to grab hold of something to remain upright. I dropped the phone and ran to the bathroom to empty my stomach. I had been an idiot to think I could just hide from this. The inevitable was happening; I had just been plunged back into my worst nightmare.

* * *

Thank you for reading. Review replies will come in the form of teasers.


	10. Chapter 10

Please don't reply to this chapter by review, as I will be removing it in a few days.

Due to some health issues that can no longer be ignored and other real life issues beyond my control, I've been forced to make a difficult decision.

After some serious soul searching, it's with deep regret that I've decided to put Sweetbriar on temporary hiatus.

I promise that I have no intentions of letting this story go by the wayside for an indefinite amount of time.

I've invested a huge amount of time and effort in both of my current stories, but I am finding that they are both suffering because I can't give either one the attention it deserves while writing and updating both on a regular schedule.

My choices are to go back to updating less frequently, or concentrating on one story at a time. I hope you understand my decision.

Both stories are incredibly intense to work on and I'm finding it impossible to just switch back and forth between the mindset I need to work with Gimpward in rehab and the one I need to make Detective Masen come to terms with all the crap I've thrown at him. The Chicago sub-plot is just heating up and you deserve my undivided attention when I write it. Because let me tell you, you haven't _seen_ twisted yet.

I've added to the original outline for Sweetbriar, and its become more labor intensive than I originally anticipated. To make it more dimensional, I need to be able to give it 100% and I can't do that while working on Impact as well.

A number of future chapters of Impact have been written and are being wrapped up. The story is nearly written, and I promise that a more in depth and detailed Sweetbriar will begin posting regularly as soon as I complete the final chapter of Impact. Note I will be posting both again once Impact is complete, but I'll only be writing Sweetbriar at that time.

I have had some incredible support from some of you, and I can never thank you enough for believing in me and my stories. Every week new people add Sweetbriar to alert. I promise not to let you down.

I know many people just slap a _HIATUS_ note on their summary or don't update for months at a time, but I felt you deserved an explanation for why I've made this decision.

Thank you again for your encouragement and support. You guys are the greatest. I appreciate the time you've invested in reading my work more than you'll ever know.

Please- feel free to PM me with questions or comments.

Denise


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